


Philia and Eros

by distantstarlight



Series: Strange Paths [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Author Drinks Too Much Coffee and Doesn't Sleep Enough, BAMFs, Battle, Blood and Violence, Cultural References, Disguised Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, He Has Many Skills, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, Kilts, Love Confessions, M/M, Missing Obvious Clues, Possessive Behavior, Potentially traumatic events, Probably more research involved than was strictly necessary, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Taking Liberties With History, Time Travel, temporary tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 84,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Best Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenwolf36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenwolf36/gifts).



> This is for my darling muse Ravenwolf36 who wanted a fic that included time travel, BAMF Sherlock, kilts and other delightful things. I hope this is everything you asked for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are working on a case, they needed to find something but what?

Sherlock and John were arguing all over again. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for!” This was the twenty-first shop they’d visited that day and John was fed up. He was footsore, hungry, and despite the many fascinating oddities they’d looked at during the course of their search there really were only so many hours a man could spend shopping before he snapped. Sherlock was in full detective mode, eyeing each shelf methodically as he examined the merchandise in hopes of discovering an artefact that had been stolen. There was no description beyond a very vague _I’ve never seen anything like it_ so Sherlock was mentally discounting anything he recognized and focusing on objects that were unique or at least extremely unusual. John’s old duffle bag had been pressed into service. It was crowded with items now, none of which had anything to do with the case but all of which had piqued Sherlock’s interest. Instead the sack was filled with assorted hand weapons, medieval devices they couldn’t fathom, interesting tools, old coins, and a small puzzle box that was inlaid with mother of pearl and John was the one carrying it around.

“I will know it when I see it!” asserted Sherlock for the hundredth time that day. John growled in frustration, “If you can control your animal noises John perhaps I can focus on our search!” Sherlock tried to ignore John but it was very difficult. When John got like this Sherlock couldn’t prevent the hairs on his forearms from standing up. He had resorted to wearing long-sleeved shirts at all times, even his pyjama tops now all came with long sleeves. There was something about John that made Sherlock feel strange deep inside and try as he might he could not discipline his transport. It had been bad enough before but since John returned to Baker Street Sherlock had despaired of regaining control of his transport. _Damn his limbic system_!

John bit back a retort and glared at his flatmate and best friend. It was better to let Sherlock continue when he was like this; there was no point in trying to distract him no matter how empty his belly felt. “It could be anything. It could be this weird metal thing right here, look.” he pointed at a double band of what seemed like copper that was the correct size to fit around someone’s wrist, or if their arms were skinny, their upper arm.

“That looks like a pair of bracelets. I know what a _bracelet_ is so that can’t be it.” Sherlock glared at the set. They _were_ unusual though. Try as he might he couldn’t quite follow the edge of them. Both of them seemed to have only one edge but that couldn’t be right. He picked them up and took a closer look at it. There was a five pound price sticker on it so Sherlock fished a note from his pocket and handed it over, “I want to examine this later.” he said as he stuck it into the bag. John groaned and now even Sherlock could hear his belly rumbling. “For goodness sake John, you ate just yesterday! You can’t tell me you’re hungry already!”

“I am _ravenous_ Sherlock because most people eat three times a day, not three times a week!” John wanted to pop Sherlock right in his rolling eyes but at least he left the shop and headed directly to a nearby restaurant. “Thank you.” said John after he placed a substantial order.

“I expect to get back to work the second you finish refuelling.” said Sherlock acerbically. He was tapping his foot impatiently.

“ _Your_ transport needs fuel too, part of that order is for you.” said John and he had his doctor face on so Sherlock bit back his next argument. When John made that face he wasn’t going to change his mind or allow Sherlock to slip away without eating something. Now Sherlock regretted his habit of keeping his back to the wall. In order to flee the table he would need to get around John and there was nothing more humiliating than being tackled by John in public and re-seated.

“As long as we get back to the search directly afterward.” he stressed instead, conceding with ill grace. John just smiled grimly and nodded sharply. Sherlock had to press his lips together and look casually out the window. They’d been living together for four months now, four months since everything in their mutual worlds had gone to hell and back leaving just the two of them once again. The Work was the only thing that remained easy between them but like all the rest of Sherlock’s addictions, John Watson was impossible to resist entirely. Self-discipline had never been more important. Sherlock had to watch himself every moment; he couldn’t let John see how his mere presence affected him.

John swallowed hard as Sherlock looked away. Like always the detective’s profile struck a chord deep within the poetic heart of him. The patrician façade that Sherlock presented the world had only fooled John for a short while. He knew that beneath the cold and collected exterior of the world’s only consulting detective was a complex and feeling man who comprehended far too much of the world’s evil and still did his best to do right, even when he found it annoying. John knew Sherlock needed the distraction cases brought and he was grateful for the one they were working on. Sherlock had been completely absorbed for hours and had given in to John’s food demands with much less arguing than he’d prepared for. John knew how to pick his battles so he stayed further comment and dragged his eyes away from Sherlock. That indefinable _something_ was still between them and the awkwardness had grown over the weeks since John had finished moving back to Baker Street had made their time together strained.

Dinner was quiet and because Sherlock was trying to humour John he ate half of his food before he put his fork down and waited patiently. He rather enjoyed watching John eat. The soldier was neat and efficient, consuming each bite with the enjoyment of a man who had several times thought he’d eaten his very last meal and had sworn to make every meal thereafter count. Sherlock couldn’t help but be impressed with John, he was brave and honest, a true hero, not a blind follower but a warrior who possessed a keen sense of discretion about right and wrong. Sherlock bit his lip before he began to stare at John all over again. He’d caught himself doing it more than once and chided himself each and every time. _John wasn’t gay_. He’d gotten married to a woman and everything. Even if it hadn’t worked out John had stated time and time again how _not_ interested in men he was and Sherlock would never offend his only friend by laying bare his hidden feelings. He couldn’t do that, not to John.

John chewed slowly, every bite a mystery as he tried to calm his racing pulse. He was grateful that Sherlock had finished eating already. There was something about how he dealt with each small mouthful that stirred John in a disturbing way. He needed to control himself. _Sherlock had no interest in intimate relationships_ , if no one else understood that, at least John did. He wouldn’t push himself on Sherlock, not matter how John felt about his tall strange friend. Sherlock was amazing and John would never be ashamed for the feelings he could hardly control. How could anyone _not_ feel something for someone like Sherlock once they’d gotten to know him? Still, Sherlock trusted so few people in the world and John would never betray that trust by making the detective have to deal with John’s base animal needs. John would deal with that issue himself. He wasn’t even going to _think_ about dating again, not after everything and besides, Sherlock never liked the people John brought home anyway and these days, John couldn’t stomach the idea of bringing anyone back to Baker Street. That was _their_ place and it wasn’t a problem anyway, not really. Sherlock was worth any sort of sacrifice.

Once their meal was concluded Sherlock threw down his credit card and nearly shouted at John who tried to pay for his own meal separately, “We are on a _case_ John! All case related expenses go on my card, you know that!” John was a proud man and Sherlock would never wound his pride by helping him financially so Sherlock instead took every opportunity to pay for things by insisting they were business expenses that they charged back to their client. John seldom argued it and in this way Sherlock managed to give his only friend a bit of a break. Sherlock had plenty of money and no one but John to spend it on so he did his best to care for his prickly soldier, even claiming John’s expenses when they worked for the Met where they didn’t get paid at all.

After dinner they kept visiting shops until they couldn’t find any that were still open and were forced to return to Baker Street. By then John’s duffle bag was almost splitting at the seams with oddments and curios, all of which he complained about but none of which he’d re-shelved. Sherlock smiled to himself, John made a lot of noise when Sherlock got like this but in reality the detective knew his soldier enjoyed the strange ways they occupied themselves while on cases. John really was the best most perfect friend a body could have. John was possessed of all manner of useful skills, all of which he faithfully employed for Sherlock no matter how he groused while he did it. After all their years together, and the years they were apart, John had only grown more interesting as he picked up tidbits here and there just as he had while he’d travelled the world while in the army. John was cleverer than Sherlock had initially given him credit for but after all this time Sherlock no longer felt the sting of dismay when something new about the doctor came out. Now Sherlock looked forward to the next surprise, always astounded when John somehow _knew_ things, amazing things, things like how to quietly pick a rusted lock because he’d gotten stuck in a fire-zone once and had to sneak out of an abandoned hospital, or how to immobilize a man twice his size using a series of finger strikes John refused to teach Sherlock, or how to make the most mouth-watering stir-fry Sherlock had ever tasted, or the way John effortlessly took care of their home, never needing to ask Sherlock where things went or how they should be stored away. John knew things, _useful_ things, and Sherlock appreciated that. “Lay it all out John. Tea please.”

John almost snorted when Sherlock spoke. He was already emptying the bag onto the coffee table and had already planned to make some tea, he was dying for a cuppa. He always made tea when they got back from being out, Sherlock didn’t need to ask but at least he was saying _please_ these days. That was different and very welcome. Sherlock had been changing ever so slowly since John had returned home. John knew they were very close to regaining that old effortless intimacy they used to share, way back when, back in the days when they were used to breathing each other’s air and sharing the same small space without awkwardness. John regretted not seeing how they fit together like lock and key right from the first moment. Instead he’d focused himself on denying his latent homosexual feelings toward his odd and brilliant flatmate so hard that he’d missed every obvious clue there was. His self-defeating decisions had cataclysmically shattered their world and John was filled with so many regrets. He was meant to be with Sherlock. That was it. They were friends and they always would be. John wasn’t interested in looking for love in someone else’s arms. He’d be satisfied with living with his other half simply by being Sherlock’s best friend. That would be enough. “Give me a minute alright?”

Sherlock knew John’s arm was bothering him and keeping him irritated would keep him from noticing how stiff it had gotten in the last hour so Sherlock huffed and made annoyed sounds until he deemed enough time had gone by before snatching the bag rudely away from John and pushing him toward the kitchen. “Just make tea John!” Sherlock began to lay his acquisitions out neatly to begin examining his new treasure horde.

John smiled to himself on the way to the kitchen, rolling his shoulder as he went. He’d been half a second away from putting that bag down, how had he not noticed the number it was doing to his bad arm? Sherlock was like a small child sometimes, impatient and incapable of waiting for anything but John found Sherlock’s attitudes to be endearing. He was so eager to learn, so excited to solve a new mystery. Today had been an exciting one for Sherlock, he’d been like a child on Christmas morning all day and John’s mind was now filled with a lovely assortment of memories of Sherlock’s happy smiling face as he lifted up one new mystery after another. John had been pleased to haul around the ever heavier sack just to watch Sherlock’s eyes light up or to see that thoughtful frown he wore when he was stymied by something.

There were two bottles of wine on the counter and John eyed them and then the kettle. Today had been long, maybe a drink would be a better way to relax than a hot cup of tea. Mind made up John poured two glasses and brought them back to Sherlock. “Changed my mind.” he said, proffering a glass to Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at the wine and took the glass, trying to ignore how warm John’s fingers were as they touched briefly, “Thank you.” he raised his glass, “To friends.”

“To best friends.” said John and they drank. Seating themselves John looked over everything, “That’s a lot of stuff Sherlock.”

“Fascinating isn’t it?” said Sherlock with a happy smile, “I’m positive these coins are real, the clerk had no idea what he was selling, that was obvious. I’ll have to research some of these hand weapons, and this scroll is intriguing. I can’t wait to translate it.”

“You know ancient Greek?” asked John sceptically. He was very relaxed now. They’d stopped and changed into their pyjamas and were now sitting on the sofa once more.

“No but it can’t be that difficult.” said Sherlock pragmatically. John rolled his eyes but kept looking things over. There were so many different things from around the world that he didn’t notice when they’d finished the first bottle of wine except that Sherlock went to the kitchen and got the second one. They had moved onto the items they couldn’t figure out together and had begun laughing at each other’s attempts to articulate a description. John had stowed each thing back into the duffle bag after they’d looked at it so it was packed tight once again. Closing his eyes John leaned back against the Union Jack pillow, the strap to his duffle bag tight around his hand. Sherlock was looking at the strange bands, “Give me your wrist.”

Obediently John stuck his left arm out and watched as Sherlock slipped the band onto him. It was bigger than it seemed because Sherlock managed to get it all the way up to his bicep, “Odd, I wouldn’t have thought it would be big enough to get past my forearm.” he mused, “Here, try this one.” He took the second band and ignored Sherlock’s fussing and pushed it onto his long slender left arm where it fit perfectly around his bicep as well. “I now pronounce us best friends for life.” said John solemnly.

Sherlock couldn’t help laughing. He was more than a little tipsy and John always managed to say amusing little things like that with such ease, “I promise to love and honour my best friend until the end of days.” he replied.

“See that you do.” said John seriously. That lasted about two seconds and then they were both laughing at one another. “What was this again?” There was a beautifully carved box. It was clearly modern but the designs were lovely and John had been admiring it when Sherlock bought it.

“Mehndi kit.”

“Mehndi kit? What’s it for?” John poked at the small wooden box filled with a tube of something with a metal tip.

“It’s for making patterns on your skin, it wears off over time. India. It’s like a tattoo but not permanent.” Sherlock had always admired the art of Mehndi and was positive he could manage to do it but was uncertain about the actual patterns. Oh well, that’s what the internet was for. He could at least see how it was done. “Let’s look up a DIY video.”

John was excited. This was brilliant, how had he not known about this? “I always wanted a tattoo but I could never decide on what I’d want to have on my skin forever. This is great, yes! I want to be marked like that!” he said. Wobbling a bit John grabbed his laptop and looked up pictures of ancient pictish tattoos, “There, those ones. Do me.”

“ _Do you?_ Are you saying you want me to draw all of _that_ on you tonight?” Sherlock was rapidly becoming sober. John was showing Sherlock a picture of an ancient Pict warrior. He looked noble and he was very covered with an elaborate design that seemed to even feature a human face. There wasn’t an untouched part of the man. Is that what John wanted? The thought of touching John all over was a very appealing one, “Are you planning on wearing a kilt like they are or do I have to use my imagination to determine where your marks begin and end?”

John snorted. _Sherlock was trying to get out of this_. Well John was just drunk enough not to want his best friend to have the last word as it were, “I’ve got m’kilt. It’s upstairs. Haven’t worn it in years, be right back. Get that kit ready.” This was a great idea. This was the most fun idea they’d had in ages. John couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a night in where they’d just had a good time goofing around or playing games. This was a _fantastic_ idea, he’d never been so glad to have his kilt, his mother had sent it back to him after his marriage had ended. He hadn’t worn it in years so why not?

Sherlock stared at John’s retreating back as the small man staggered away to put on his kilt. _To put on his kilt!_ Sherlock felt an unwelcome plumping of his nether parts at the vision that flashed through his mind…blinking slowly he researched application techniques. He was really doing this. He was really going to paint John Watson’s naked body with Mehndi.

Sherlock had to breathe deeply for a minute before he went to his bedroom and put on the tightest pair of pants he could find before he put his pyjama bottoms back on. He couldn’t trust his transport and this would take hours to do!

Sherlock had to brace himself against his bureau. He was going to be touching and decorating John Watson’s naked warm bare skin while the love of his life wore only a kilt and they were just friends. Could he do this? Could he mark John like that and control himself? He had to. John was so happy right now, he hadn’t been this happy and relaxed since before…since _before_. Taking a deep breath Sherlock clenched his fists and exhaled slowly. He could do this. He was doing this.

John was having a great time flinging his clothes off. He loved his kilt and seldom had a chance or inclination to wear it but it was his Watson kilt, how could he not have one? Shucking his pants off cheekily John threw them in the corner of his room and wrapped his kilt on but forewent everything else, leaving his stockings and sporran on the bed along with everything he normally wore with the kilt. He wanted the full body tattoo. That man on the internet looked fierce and John _really_ liked it. Maybe it was an affirmation of his masculinity after everything he’d been through or maybe he was reaching back to his ancient roots but whatever it was tonight John Watson was mostly naked and already heading back downstairs to let Sherlock Holmes cover him with ink from head to toe.

Sherlock felt all the air leave his lungs as John marched himself back into the living room. He was clad only in his kilt and the metal armband they were both wearing. John was gorgeous and Sherlock felt himself react almost instantly. Gritting his teeth Sherlock quickly thought of the most horrific thing he could imagine and recalling what it had looked like walking in on his brother and Lestrade was enough to douse the flames of passion thoroughly. In fact he needed another drink so Sherlock emptied his glass quickly as John lay himself out on the sofa face down with their Union Jack pillow tucked under his neck and chest so his back was arched a bit, “Make it good Sherlock, I’m trusting you here. Don’t paint something embarrassing on me; I know where you keep your poisons.”

Suddenly Sherlock felt serious about the whole business, “You can rely on me John. You are my best friend, I will not let you down.” Considerately he fetched a straw and refilled John’s wine glass, setting it on the floor beside the sofa where John could reach it easily. The laptop was right on the coffee table in front of them and both men studied the image carefully, “You’re certain John? This is the style you want?”

“Well maybe not the face on my stomach but all the other stuff looks grand. Do that!” They inspected the picture closely again.

“The face is an integral part of the pattern John, are you sure?” John stared at it.

“I don’t know if I want someone’s face on my stomach for two or three weeks.” that’s how long the paste was supposed to last on his skin according the instructions, “Look, there are faces on his knees too. Why was that?”

“I have no idea. It would be very frightening I suppose.” John looked interested, “Now you want the face.”

“I want the face. Make it scary.” John flipped over and threw his arms up above his head, exposing his torso completely. Sherlock forced himself to continue breathing evenly as his eyes wandered down the hard fit body displayed in front of him. John had gone through a bad patch after everything had been said and done, he’d lost a lot of weight when he stopped eating regularly but he’d gotten over all of it but had yet to catch up with the podge that Sherlock really, really missed seeing. Still, rippling muscles on a soldier were hardly offensive, “Get going, you can’t plan all night.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and wished he had more wine. Blinking he took up the tube and a sheet of paper, practicing his lines for a minute or two. When he was sure he could manage without making John look like he’d been decorated by a child he leaned in and asked one last time, “Are you sure John?”

“Do it.”

One last deep breath was all Sherlock could do to calm himself as he examined John’s torso one more time. Bending down he closed his eyes as he thought of the pattern on the laptop and the shape of John’s body. When he was sure he had it all organized in his mind Sherlock began to draw.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mehndi is an art, it is extremely unlikely that your first attempt is going to be fabulous so we're just going to have to wait to see how Sherlock did.


	2. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have had a bit to drink and made a decision involving something they purchased.

The first line was shocking, the stark blackness of the ink against John’s pale honeyed skin almost startled Sherlock. John’s skin was warm as well and so soft. It wasn’t silky, it had texture and suppleness but that normally elusive aroma of _John_ was everywhere and it made Sherlock’s eyes want to flutter. Steeling himself Sherlock kept his hand steady as he drew a delicate outline, flawlessly copying the broad patterns he saw on the graphic John had chosen. Pausing for a minute he went to the kitchen and got a small metal stylus from his equipment and with its help he filled in broad ribbons of ink after he drew hollow shapes.

John’s body was fascinating. Sherlock had admired it secretly for so long so now that he had his chance he managed to map the various characteristics of John’s skin while he had unlimited access to it, cataloguing hair density, freckle placement, moles, micro-scars, and all manner of hidden imperfections. One night wasn’t enough! Sherlock began to cast about for a reason to access John like this a second time, maybe they could try the body art with a different pattern after this one wore off, well, if it worked out. Sherlock thought it wasn’t turning out too badly even if he had to use a much larger percentage of his concentration then he would normally dedicate to a task of this skill level. Normally his mind could work on multiple projects simultaneously but tonight only all the alcohol he’d had was keeping his tenuous ability to ignore his entire downstairs as his transport tried to send messages of approval about his proximity to John.

Sherlock needed a second tube. There were ten in the box and he wondered if he would need all of them. The face was completed now, the ink paste still moist and shining. John’s eyes were half-lidded but he didn’t seem drowsy though he was limp and relaxed. He’d lapsed into a trance-like state, breathing shallowly and barely reacting as Sherlock leaned against him or shifted around to get a better angle, losing himself in his task as he reconstructed the ancient pattern. Sherlock carefully drew swirls and lines, integrating the various symbols as best he could considering the grainy photo they had.

When John’s stomach, chest, and the fronts of his arms were finally done he had a ferocious face glaring from his abdomen, his chest splashed with two symbolic sun symbols that included the natural starburst of John’s war wound which Sherlock managed to showcase because he liked it. Dark bands swirled in archaic looking coils from John’s shoulders that reached right down to the band on his bicep as Sherlock incorporated elements from yet another historical website, all with John’s approval until there was no more space to draw.

Reluctantly Sherlock moved away from John and lifted his right leg to begin at the top of his foot. The box had ten tubes in it and he’d used three on John’s torso and the front of his arms. He had to allocate two tubes to each leg so he could finish John’s back. The front was already drying though it would take all night to set properly, the modern paste didn’t require as much drying time as the original recipe and produced a much darker result that lasted longer. Sherlock didn’t tell John the ingredients, but it was definitely _not_ an organic compound, but at least it wasn’t toxic. Probably. Testing might have been a good idea but for now another drink would suffice, so Sherlock drank some of John’s wine.

John’s kilt slid up his thigh when Sherlock moved his leg but John did nothing to correct its placement causing Sherlock to swallow hard as the shadows that had hidden John from view grew that much shallower. Taking a deep breath and another sip of John’s wine Sherlock began making the distinctive fish scale pattern on the original graphic. They’d been at this for ages already but Sherlock prayed the night would never end.

When John’s right leg was done, his knees bearing snarling faces, Sherlock got the next tube and began with his left leg without comment. “How are we doing the back?” asked John. His voice was low and sleepy sounding but his eyes were strangely bright, almost hot looking, “I can’t lay here arse up, the paste is still damp.”

Sherlock really wished John hadn’t said _arse_. He’d done so well until now but he could already feel his wretched body reacting to the mere thought of John’s glorious soldier behind. “I need a drink.” he said. He knew all the wine was gone, “What have we got?”

“There’s some whiskey in the cupboard above the tea.” said John with a puzzled look, “There’s ice in the freezer.”

“I’ll get you one too.” said Sherlock setting down the tube and stumbling to the kitchen. He needed to get a grip on himself. The kitchen was cooler than the front room and that helped. Sherlock grabbed the ice out of the freezer and poured both of them a healthy portion.

John lay on the sofa and calmed himself down. He’d managed to ignore most of the work Sherlock had done by mentally going over all their case because Sherlock’s hands were delicate and precise, his face frozen in the most perfect expression of utter concentration, the one he wore only when he was well and truly caught up in his research. John loved that face and there Sherlock was, making it as he carefully reconstructed a centuries old pattern _just to amuse John_. He really was the best friend a bloke could have so he took advantage of his temporary privacy to rearrange himself, careful not to smear any of Sherlock’s hard work but definitely need to try and mask the rapidly growing evidence of his less than platonic interest in his best friend and flatmate. Suddenly he was glad Sherlock had gotten a drink, “You know I can stand against the fireplace. The mantle is low enough for me to hold on to comfortably and you can reach everywhere. You’ve gotten faster now that you’ve gotten comfortable with it.”

Sherlock came back brandishing two glasses filled nearly half way with amber liquid. He looked at John, swallowed hard once more and went directly to the kitchen. John heard him say, “That would work very well John.” Sherlock stayed in there for a couple of silent minutes before he came back with the whiskey bottle. “You should use the loo before we get going again.”

Now that he mentioned it the bathroom was a very good idea. “Help me up.” Sherlock stood next to John and took his hand. Carefully they managed to maneuverer themselves so John was able to stand without mussing the pattern, “I’m glad I didn’t wear pants or this would be difficult.” he commented as he walked away. He bit his lip as he realized he’d just told Sherlock he wasn’t wearing pants.

When John came back from a more difficult than he’d realized break their glasses were still on the table but John could have sworn there had been more whiskey in the bottle. Sherlock looked a bit glassy but his hands were steady, “Whenever you’re ready John. I’ll do the backs of your legs first so they’ll dry faster.”

“Alright,” Sherlock handed him his glass of whiskey and John could smell it on his flatmate’s breath. Sherlock had definitely had an entire glass of whiskey while John was relieving himself. Why? John took a drink and set the glass beside the skull. Setting his feet apart a bit he made himself comfortable before he leaned forward to grip the mantle, “Good?”

There was silence for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat, “Perfect.” he said, his voice still gruff. He cleared his throat a second time and John heard the clink of ice as Sherlock took a sip. He was going to be falling down drunk before he got to John’s back! “Don’t worry John, I won’t make a mess.”

John’s eyes closed the second Sherlock’s fingers stroked over the backs of his thighs. The light contact went straight to his cock and John had never regretted the lack of pants more. “You’ll have to tuck your kilt up. This part of the pattern goes high up the back.” Both men swallowed hard as Sherlock pushed the back hem of John’s kilt carefully between his knees, lifting the left side a bit so John could reach down to grasp it, cautiously tucking it into the waistband, almost sighing with relief as he also obscured the fact that he was almost fully erect. “Thank you.”

Sherlock was dying, he was absolutely dying. John’s arse was mere _centimetres_ away from his face. John’s legs were perfect, his thighs strong, his calves perfectly formed, the light hair thickening as it went downward and Sherlock wanted to brush his lips over it to feel the changes. He bit his lip hard to shock himself. At least he didn’t need to control his face any longer; it was difficult enough ignoring his erection. Sherlock allowed his eyes to drink in John’s legs, his hips, his marvellous arse, the dip in his lower back and the powerful muscles of his shoulders and arms. He was almost startled when John asked, “Ready?”

“Ready John,” Sherlock began. Now he allowed himself to hungrily examine John’s flesh, mapping the specks and mars that made him unique even as he drew the obscuring patterns over everything, sparing not one bit of John’s legs because it meant touching all of it and Sherlock couldn’t stop touching John if his life depended on it. The backs of John’s legs were relatively simple but before Sherlock finished he went to the very top of the pattern and followed the edge with a series of dots and dashes, copying the pattern onto the backs of both of John’s thighs right below the curve of his tartan covered backside .--. .-. --- .--. . .-. - -.--   --- ..-.   ... .... . .-. .-.. --- -.-. -.-   .... --- .-.. -- . ...  “You’ll have to be careful when you take this off before you go to bed. By the time I’m done your back everything on your front should be dry enough to sleep on as long as you don’t turn over.

“How am I supposed to not turn over when I’m asleep?” asked John. He couldn’t control how he moved when he was asleep!

“Sleep in my bed, I’ll put down an old sheet just in case and I can monitor you.” Sherlock was never going to sleep again, not when he had a thousand memories of John’s skin to catalogue and possibly John’s sleep patterns to learn.

“You sure? That doesn’t seem weird to you?” _Sherlock was inviting John to his bed_. John exulted for only a moment. _No he wasn’t._ He was just being _logical_. That’s how Sherlock was, “If it doesn’t seem weird then alright. I don’t want to have a smeared picture on my back for the better part of a month.”

Sherlock almost had to bite his hand to silence himself when John agreed almost immediately. _He was taking John Watson to bed_. Sherlock felt lighter than air for a blissful moment. _No he wasn’t!_ John was just being _practical_. They were friends _that was it_ just _friends_. He was helping his friend because they were friends and friends helped friends and _fuck_ he needed another drink. “Let me finish your back and then we can go to bed.” Sherlock’s eyes widened as he listened to himself. That was not what he had meant to say!

“Sounds _great_!” John bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to sound so eager! For goodness sake he was a grown man not an out-of-control teenager! He needed to stop drinking, it was seriously affecting his judgement. John sipped out of his glass before downing all of it in one go, _fuck it all to hell_ , hopefully his dick would get the message and relax already. It wasn’t getting anything from Sherlock no matter how in bed they’d  be.

Sherlock took a last shaky breath and picked up a fresh tube. The pattern for John’s back was very simple but it would still require nearly all the remaining paste. He worked carefully, progressing slowly in case he ran out of ink, he didn’t want the pattern to end abruptly and look unfinished so stage after stage was completed until John’s back was covered in bold swirls and ancient symbols. “Would you like me to take a picture of it so you can see?”

“Yeah.” John could hardly believe they were done. He felt like he was wearing a suit of ink paste. Sherlock had covered him from his neckline all the way to his wrists. His torso was covered front and back with delicate coils joining both sides. John saw several bursts of light from Sherlock’s flash and when he heard the detective clear his throat John turned around and examined the photographs. His back looked incredible; he never would have believed it was him. Sherlock had made every detail exact and crisp, everything was balanced yet flowing, “What about my legs?” Sherlock showed him the rest of the pictures. John’s legs looked almost exactly like the picture they’d used as a guide. There was something subtly different but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was probably the fact that his leg hair was all matted down, he probably should have shaved before they did this but John didn’t shave for anyone, not that Sherlock had asked. “Amazing Sherlock, not that I expected it to be anything but, thanks you, this is just incredible.” John knew he was gushing but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. This was beautiful, he loved all of it.

“Excuse me John.” Sherlock strode away abruptly and went to the loo. He must have needed to go urgently, John didn’t think Sherlock had taken any kind of break the entire time they’d been doing this. He was in there for a long time at any rate so John flicked on the telly and watched terrible late night programming while he stood. Silently he thanked Sherlock’s transport for the break, at least he had time to calm his own transport down, or at least his erection subsided even if the ache in his balls hadn’t. John couldn’t sit or anything, there was too much damp ink. His front was entirely dry, at least he couldn’t see any shiny spots and all the paste seemed to have achieved that cracked mud look the instructions said to look for. He’d have to sleep on his stomach all night but as long as Sherlock kept him from rolling about he would be entirely fine.

Sherlock was in the bathroom, a towel over his mouth as he stood in the dry shower with his trousers around his knees, masturbating with a saliva slicked hand. John’s body! Oh god John smelled so good, his body had felt so marvellously addictively _right!_ He couldn’t stop himself, he needed to relieve the pressure, get rid of this need to penetrate John somehow, his fist wasn’t enough but it was all he had. Desperately Sherlock moved faster, willing his body to just come already but it wasn’t working. Sherlock thought about sleeping next to John, about hearing him breath all night, of feeling the heat from his body warm his sheets, his mattress, his pillow. With a bitten back cry of gratitude Sherlock came into the flannel he had waiting. He felt ashamed of himself as he washed up at the sink, John was his best friend, not a masturbatory fantasy! He had to wait until the flush on his cheek faded a bit and wondered for a moment what John thought he was up to. Steeling himself once again Sherlock went out to face John before going to bed with him. He could do this now, he could.

Eventually Sherlock returned and he looked a bit flushed. John suddenly realized Sherlock might be shy about sharing his bed! The detective wasn’t a very physically intimate sort of person; in fact, now that he thought on it he realized the only people who touched Sherlock without him flinching were John or Mrs. Hudson! “Do you need help with the sheets?” John thought he’d be drunker considering all the alcohol they’d consumed but he felt almost sober, almost too sober. His body was beginning to resume its former state of arousal.

“No I can manage, I’ll go do that now, you must be tired of standing.” John followed Sherlock into his bedroom and stood back while Sherlock stripped back the blankets and fitted an extra sheet on top of his mattress. The soldier had to call into being every scrap of self-control he had remaining but it was the wee hours of the morning, he was dead on his feet, finally really beginning to feel all the booze they’d had _and bloody hell_ _was Sherlock’s arse glorious!_ John wished that just once he could feel it, squeeze it, just touch it, even a bit.

John was footsore but as he walked to the bed he had a sudden realization, “I can’t sleep with the kilt on.” what were they supposed to do? John couldn’t even have a sheet on to protect his modesty. Either he allowed Sherlock to see him entirely naked or he risked ruining hours of work.

“Just sleep naked John. We’re both adults. I’ll just turn up the electric heat in the room, you’ll be fine.” Sherlock’s voice sounded dispassionate but his cheeks felt like they were burning and Sherlock was concerned that John could hear how hard his heart was thumping in his chest.

John tensed a bit but could come up with no argument, “Alright.” he stood there awkwardly while Sherlock adjusted the temperature. Nervously he plumped up the pillow and checked the paste on the front of his body. It was dry and rigid the way it was supposed to be, it would need scrubbing off now, he could sleep if he wanted but naked in bed with Sherlock? How would he manage that? “Would you like to fall asleep alone or would you like me to remain?”

Oh. Well, that did make a bit of difference, “You won’t fall asleep out front?” Sherlock had had a great deal more to drink than John, “Maybe you should just stay here.” that was making sense to John. It was hard to think clearly what with Sherlock smelling so good and being so close. John turned his back quickly before Sherlock saw the physical evidence that was manifesting all over again. “Okay turn your back.”

Sherlock whipped around so fast he wondered if John could hear the air bend around him. He had to shut his eyes when he heard fabric slither, John was entirely naked now. Sherlock heard John arranging himself and when all movement seemed to stop Sherlock heard John give the okay to turn off the bedroom light. It was still dimly lit inside the room so Sherlock managed to stagger over to his side of the bed and lay down, super-concious of his pyjamas. “Sleep well John.” He wondered if John could feel his eyes staring right at his naked behind. It was perfect. The curve was perfect. John’s arse was no more than half a meter from his crotch. Sherlock felt himself stir. John couldn’t know but Sherlock couldn’t turn his back! He resorted to curling up on his side and trying to will his erection away.

John’s voice was thick and he tried to sound sleepy when Sherlock lay down but the delectable scent of him combined with the whiskey they had consumed made John’s nose flutter and his erection ache. He was grateful to be on his stomach where he could hide the thick shaft beneath him. He couldn’t even masturbate, not even if he was alone, not without risking ruining Sherlock’s art. John hoped he could keep his hands to himself and closed his eyes, trying to ignore how warm Sherlock felt. Without meaning to he said, “I’m cold, sleep closer.”

“Of course John,” Sherlock’s voice sounded strained but he still shuffled much closer. Now only a few centimetres separated them, “Better?”

John’s entire side warmed and his face flushed. He could smell the whiskey on Sherlock’s breath and whatever he was using for aftershave. The heat in John’s loins built up fruitlessly, he couldn’t do anything but try to fall asleep. “Yeah, that’s gorgeous.” Sherlock was gorgeous, in the dim light it looked like some kind of pyjama wearing angel was lying beside him. Did Sherlock even know his hair shone in the darkness, catching every stray bit of light in the room or that his skin glowed so pale and white, even the fabric that covered him only made his bared skin seem more obvious. John’s mouth went a little dry, “Goodnight Sherlock.”

If he hadn’t had what amounted to an entire bottle of wine and more than one glass of whiskey he might never have done it but he had so Sherlock reached out and took John’s hand in the darkness. He smiled when he felt the hard warmth of them tangle instantly with his. It felt so wonderful to be connected to John, even like this, “Goodnight John. I’ll watch over you. Go ahead and sleep.” It didn’t take long for John’s breathing to even out and for his body to grow lax but his hand never weakened its grip on Sherlock’s. The detective lay there for hours listening to John sleep, gently tugging him back into position whenever John tried to shift too much and the soldier always murmured a sleepy thank you. It made Sherlock smile and he drifted off eventually, not noticing when John pulled Sherlock’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles as they both slumbered deeply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally misrepresented the how of doing this type of artwork. Don't do it this way, find someone who knows what they're talking about and who doesn't drink two pots of coffee a day. This was all fake for the fic.


	3. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John enjoyed an unusual evening together. Their day is going to be even more unusual.

When John woke up he was hot. His dreams had been fitful toward the end, filling him with unease and he woke sluggishly. The air was dry and for a fearful moment he thought he was back in Afghanistan and adrenaline jolted him fully awake. The world was terribly _terribly_ wrong and it wasn’t even because he’d woken up naked in bed with Sherlock Holmes. The detective was spooned up behind John, his arm tight around John’s chest, his long leg draped over John’s hip, and the lack of clothing was very clearly mutual.

The very next thing John noticed an instant later was his own arm. The metal band was still firmly in place but the paste that Sherlock had drawn on him was gone and in its place were actual tattoos! The ink was rich and colourful, crisp and detailed but clearly not new, the skin well healed and lightly browned. John twisted in Sherlock’s arms and looked down at his chest and belly. The colours there were vibrant too and it gave his marks a three-dimensional quality that was almost disconcerting. He drew his leg up and saw that the rich colours went all the way down to his feet, it was like he was dressed head to toe in a suit designed by a druid who had been sampling the wrong kind of mushrooms! The skin that wasn’t richly tattooed was perfectly tanned, the natural gold intensified like he’d spent a month in the sun. _What the hell? How? What?_

John stared around, his eyes darting back and forth. They weren’t in Sherlock’s bedroom at all. This wasn’t anywhere he recognized! They weren’t in Baker Street anymore. In fact, John wasn’t sure _where_ they were except that the air was warm and smelled of the sea, the bed they were in was no more than a dense mat on a wooden frame, a thin woven blanket covering their hips and not much more. Had they been kidnapped? John assessed himself. He didn’t feel disoriented or foggy, he didn’t think they’d been administered any drugs but that was just a guess. They weren’t where they were supposed to be, that was for certain.

He turned back to check Sherlock who was still asleep, his head pillowed on a long fabric covered tube. John gaped. Sherlock’s hair was long! It spilled down to his shoulders in heavy ringlets, all of them perfectly coiled and shining. It was an amazingly good look for him but _how had his hair grown nearly a foot overnight?_ Sherlock’s skin was still extremely pale compared to John’s but he clearly was as well-tanned as the soldier, his flesh warm-hued. John noticed that all of Sherlock’s body hair was gone and he could not stop his eyes from wandering right down to Sherlock’s groin. No hair, his penis was resting softly against his bared thigh and John realized he was staring inappropriately at a much larger than he anticipated and uncircumcised organ. He had to shake his head, _there wasn’t time for that right this second_ , instead John shook Sherlock by the shoulder, “Sherlock, wake up.” John’s eyes darted everywhere as he automatically searched for immediate threats and the lack thereof did nothing to calm him. They were in a simple bare-walled room with a tapestry covered window. The floor seemed to be made of stone and the plain door was made of rough-hewn wood. There were several wooden chests against one wall and a small table with two stools beside it and nothing else. His heart still thumped harshly in his chest because things were so far from normal he didn’t know how to react.

Sherlock’s eyes opened sleepily before widening with curious shock, his gaze darting down John’s obviously naked body. The only things they still had on were the metal armlets, “Why are we _both_ naked and how did _that_ happen to your skin?” he asked sharply.

“My burning question is why aren’t we in London?” said John, nodding his head at the severely altered décor. Sherlock looked around which caused his ringlets to bounce and move. His eyes widened again as his long hair swung into view. John was treated to the sight Sherlock’s mouth in a perfect _O_ of surprise, “Where the utter _fuck_ are we Sherlock?” John glared around the room.

“Don’t swear John.” said Sherlock absently, brushing his long hair aside. He rolled out of bed, unconcerned with his nudity or the general strangeness of everything. John forgot to breathe as his best friend went to the window and twitched the tapestry aside. John drank in the long perfect lines of Sherlock’s nearly flawless body, his smooth hairless skin, the sprinkling of moles and freckles that made intriguing patterns that John wanted to memorize, “This can’t possibly be right!” said Sherlock apparently completely unaware that John was having a momentary mental shut-down because the image of both the detective’s back _and_ front were now burning into John’s brain.

“What? What can’t be right?” Forgetting his own nakedness John got right out of bed and went to Sherlock to look out the window. There was no glass; it was merely a neatly framed empty space and what it revealed made John’s jaw drop. There was an elaborate courtyard displayed with potted plants, a small pool, and elegant mosaic that bore a low table and a series of mats and cushions. Tall stone pillars held up a balcony that ran all along the interior and there were men and women moving about, all of them dressed in simple clothes that were made of rectangular panels of cloth, “This cannot _be_ John.”

“How did we get here? How long were we asleep?” Sherlock looked at John, the soldier was understandably uneasy. His first instinct would be to protect Sherlock, it was John’s nature to look out for those he perceived needed him and Sherlock had proven his need for John on countless occasions but despite the curious circumstances around them he felt no fear. Something very odd was afoot and he was already burning to know what and why. Sherlock was trying to reconcile what he could see around him against the very vivid dreams he’d had all through the night. Even now the memories of them clamoured for attention but ruthlessly he pushed them into a waiting room of his mind palace, “Sherlock?”

Before Sherlock could answer him there was a knock at the door and both men started. John frowned, he couldn’t let Sherlock be seen naked! There had to be something he could wear. John went to a chest and opened it. After rummaging and finding nothing he recognized he settled for drawing out a long panel of fabric which he handed to Sherlock. He saw his kilt on the floor in the same spot he’d dropped it last night when he’d gone to bed. _What?_ Shaking his head John picked it up and secured it around his hips. At least his kilt was familiar and comfortable. When he was covered they went to the door together and cautiously opened it.

 A short thin youth with dark warm skin was waiting and he had a covered tray in his hands. Bowing as well as he could the young man came directly in, “Cook found some of the cheese you like as well as some of the new northern wines.” the boy stood, clearly comfortable around them, simply setting the large tray onto the small table, “Apologies, that is not how you wear that.” without hesitation the young man opened the chest and pulled out another panel as well as some metal clips and a length of soft rope. Without asking he adjusted Sherlock’s piece of cloth and re-dressed him. Now he had fabric clipped together at his shoulders and cinched around his waist. It was oddly modest. Sherlock silently nodded his thanks, examining the lad intently, and the young man finished with a shallow bow and a comment, “Your comportment lessons resume this afternoon.”

Sherlock had been standing there observing the proceedings with an expressionless face but his voice was cutting and demanding, “Who are you? Where are we?”

Now the slave bowed deeply, “Lady Olivia, your fever has stolen many of your memories once again.” Sherlock froze. _Lady Olivia?_ There must be some kind of mistake but the boy kept speaking, “I am Dorus, your slave, this is your home with Master Ioannes. You have lived here since you washed ashore in a great storm many seasons ago. You remember nothing of your homeland but you have much wealth and Master Ioannes has obtained this residence with it. You have been ill off and on for almost a year now, your memories leave you each time but they will return again, or they have.”

Sherlock frowned as he considered what he had been told. What kind of story was this? If they’d been here for some time that would account for the darkness of their skin but how did that explain the dramatic change in John’s markings, and why was he being referred to as a _lady_ , and how did any of this happen, and why didn’t he recall anything of this place beyond the few minutes he’d had since waking? “Where are we?”

“You are in _Ionia_.” Those weren’t the words he used, Sherlock hadn’t been sure at first but now that he was paying attention he could hear an ancient language being spoken to him but in his head he was _hearing_ English! Each time Dorus said their names he didn’t hear _Ioannes_ he heard _John_!

Sherlock recognized the region name from one of the old manuscripts he had read on a recent case. He turned to John, “We’re in ancient Greece. We’re in what eventually becomes the Turkish coast! _How?_ This place hasn’t existed in ages!”

John’s mouth dropped open and he looked stunned. Sherlock was gratified to see that there wasn’t a scrap of disbelief in John’s expression, he had taken Sherlock’s statement as truth and it warmed the detective through. Most people would not have listened but these days it was like John could tell when Sherlock was feigning and when he was being sincere. John’s face hardened, he had questions, “Excuse us.” John tried to rush the boy out of the room so he could speak to Sherlock alone.

“Master Ioannes, please, allow me.” Dorus bowed his head, “Each time the fever strikes this happens. I know the questions you will ask. You are not from these lands. You are from the far north, from the lands unconquered by Rome. Your mate is known as your Lady to all, only your domestic slave know the truth of your lives together and all of us would do anything to protect you. You have saved each and every one of us and given us good lives, we would never betray you.” Dorus bowed to Sherlock, “ _Lady_ Olivia, you are also from the far north but a different land than your mate, you belong to a strange tribe, here the locals understand you to be an oracle. You help people solve their problems; you are blessed by the gods with many gifts. Master Ioannes is the master of these lands, and known for his healing and fighting skills, but you are his sole concern.”

 _Mate? They were recognised as a couple?_ Sherlock risked a quick look at John who had gone very still as he tried to absorb what was being told to him, “We’re not from here but everyone knows us?”

“They know _of_ you. None but the residents of this place know you personally. You have been very careful.” Dorus looked sincere but Sherlock was reserving judgment until he had more evidence. This was altogether too odd.

“How did we establish ourselves? We couldn’t have just shown up and set up shop!” demanded John.

“Master Ioannes, please, I implore you to break your fast. I will bring you to someone who can answer your questions.” John was suspicious. Sherlock could see it. The soldier was wound up and becoming upset.

“I would speak with him alone regardless, you are dismissed.” Dorus bowed as he left. Sherlock didn’t recall if this was normal servant behaviour but he had a mind to put a stop to it if it was. It looked ridiculous.

John turned his back and lifted the cover off the tray. There was an assortment of cheeses, some flat disks of what looked a lot like pancakes, a jug of what smelled like wine, and two shallow bowls that had fluted stems holding them up, “I guess these are our cups.” he said as he poured two measures of liquid out, “Smells alright.”

“I don’t know what to think of any of this John. We have somehow managed to relocate from our home in London to some distant time in the past in an entirely different country that neither of us has visited, or at least I haven’t.” John shook his head and raised the heavy cup to his lips. Sherlock watched him closely but the wine seemed to be untampered with, “It’s spiced isn’t it.”

“Yes. Urg.” John gagged a bit. It tasted like wine with a perfume swirl. He didn’t really care for it but he was thirsty, more than a little out of his depth, apparently centuries in the past, and covered in tattoos. He needed a drink and who gave a fuck if it was dawn.

“This has to be a trick of some kind, a fabrication.” John nodded as Sherlock began to pace around. He poured another measure of the spiced drink into his…he didn’t even know what to call it but whatever it was he was drinking out of and had a deep drink. Setting it down John ate one of the round flat dough things. It tasted sweetish and he realized it was dressed with honey. It wasn’t too bad. He ate a piece of cheese. It was strongly flavoured and almost hard but it went well with the weird wine and the pancake thing so John had more. Sherlock was pacing even more, his fabric covering flapping about as his bare feet slapped against the stone floor. “We could have been drugged, hypnotised perhaps. All these people could be players hired to maintain the masquerade but who, _who_ would have the resources to do this? Why would they want to? What gain is there to be had?”

John shrugged, ate more cheese and had more wine and an olive. He went over to the wooden chests and began opening them. One was filled with lengths of fabric like the ones Sherlock was dressed in. Others had heaps of scrolls dumped inside; another had what looked like pirate treasure, “Sherlock. This must be the great wealth Dorus said we had.”

Sherlock came over. The wooden chest was filled with a wide array of gold and silver coins from all over, loose gems, delicately worked jewellery and a couple of things that looked like armour, “I really hope we weren’t pirates.” John groaned.

Sherlock lit right up, “Do you think that’s possible John?” his face fell, “Dorus didn’t say anything about pirates and I’m very sure that if I lived here for any length of time I would have mentioned being a pirate if I was one.”

“No, instead you’re apparently my _mate_ , whatever that means, and you’re going around pretending to be a woman.” John stopped digging around, “If we are in the past why is my kilt here and why do we still have these armband things on? If we are in the middle of some bit of fakery why would someone go through so much trouble for us?”

Sherlock took a quick look at John. The soldier was becoming more and more upset, his body automatically caring for itself. John would refuel himself in case he was needed; he wasn’t even thinking about it. It would be moments before John realized that Sherlock wasn’t eating…and there he went. John went back to the platter and got Sherlock a serving of food and handed it to him. Obediently Sherlock ate. There was nothing to be gained by denying themselves food, whoever had done this to them had had them in their power for a long time already no matter what they currently remembered. John wouldn’t let Sherlock leave the room until they were fortified and Sherlock had a lot of questions to ask this mystery person Dorus was bringing them to see. “Thank you John.”

John flashed a quick smile and Sherlock was gratified to see him relax a bit, “Eat up, lots to do.”

“Indeed.” Sherlock had another helping but stopped after finishing his drink. John checked him over before pulling the door open. There were two pairs of simple sandals waiting for them on a woven mat so Sherlock and John slipped them on before following the short path to the inner garden where Dorus was waiting, “Whenever you are ready masters.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wanted to get a grip on the situation before he started taking this pretence to pieces. He had to focus but instead he realized John was nearly naked in front of him. With all the distractions of not waking up in England, being told he was pretending to be a woman, and everything else he had not adjusted to the fact that John Hamish Watson was prowling right in front of him, his shoulders tense and set, ready to protect Sherlock the instant anything untoward happened. _Oh gods! He really was magnificent!_ The tattoos were rather distracting and Sherlock was grateful that John’s kilt was long enough to obscure the additional marks he had painted on. _Could it be the tattoos? Were the tattoos somehow responsible? What about the armbands, they both had one. John’s kilt? No, it wasn’t likely John’s kilt. He’d worn it before and they hadn’t woken up in a different time period._ Sherlock kept walking and working over the factors he was aware of.

John was becoming angry. He didn’t know where they were. He didn’t know what they were up against. He and Sherlock had nothing to protect themselves with, not even a hand weapon! A load of strange money just seemed like problem bait to him, and now they were reliant on the words of strangers to figure things out! He hoped Sherlock could figure out what was going on because he was once again well and truly lost.

Dorus led them out of the courtyard and into a large garden. After another shallow bow the young man departed. At the far end of a stone walled enclosure was a tall bearded man who was bending over and working with a bushy plant of some kind. Sherlock thought he recognized it. The man was dark of hair and kind of eye but he was so tall that he towered above them. He was huge! “Ioannes, Olivia! Good morning, look, I think it’s about to bloom!”

The huge man pointed to the bush where Sherlock now observed small buds that did indeed look ready to unfurl, “Greetings.” John said nothing and simply looked at the man, his body still ready to leap into action if necessary.

The man stood tall and looked hard at them both, “Ah. One of those mornings is it? Well, come have a seat, I’ll answer all your questions.” He walked away and stopped, turning back, “I’m your friend and I know you won’t but you can trust me. You can trust everyone here. I’d say believe me but you won’t but you will. Come on, the hives are right over here.”

Hives? Bees? Sherlock did enjoy bees a great deal. John didn’t relax a bit but Sherlock didn’t expect him to. At any rate the huge man was already walking down a narrow path and away from them. They had to follow or stand there with their queries unanswered, “John?”

Sherlock was curious, John could see that, and John was as well but he was reluctant to go about and potentially deliver themselves into a trap of some kind. That giant hadn’t even given them his name! “Right.” said John with a sharp nod, “Let’s get some answers.”

“Very well John.” Sherlock waited a brief moment because John took the lead just as Sherlock knew he would. John was always protective, always defensive, always ready to do whatever he needed to do to keep them safe and together. Sherlock felt his heart grow warm and a sense of security blossom. No matter where they were, they were together. He and John would figure this all out, they’d get back to London somehow. All he needed to do was ask the right questions and there was no one better than Sherlock Olivia Holmes at finding things out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am about to mangle history in the worst possible way.
> 
> Note - I need a break. I'm sorry but I will be taking a short hiatus to do nothing at all. I will resume writing as soon as my brain re-engages.


	4. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have woken up far in the past. They know nothing but someone seems to have answers, some at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies over the long delay. I get lost in my head on occasion.

 

The air was already warm and it was noticeably drier and saltier than they were used to. The sun shone brightly and though it was clearly early in the morning everyone in the large sprawling complex seemed to be busily at work doing something. The corridors were broad and simple; the flagstones that lined the path were smooth and even. The entire building had a symmetry to it that Sherlock would have admired more another time. Right now there were facts to obtain and a puzzle to sort out. They couldn’t possibly be in the past, it just couldn’t be. There had to be some kind of explanation.

The large man seated himself on a low stone bench that had two other low benches close in front of it. Now that they were close they could see the man’s eyes. They were incredible. At first glimpse John thought they were blue but then they seemed brown. It was a moment before he realized the giant had eyes like Sherlock except this man’s eye-colour seemed to shift with his every movement, with every angle of light that struck him. It was mesmerizing but John tore his gaze away to review their environs.

He was smiling encouragingly, indicating with his hand that they should be seated. Sherlock’s eyes darted around. He saw John staring at the huge hairy man’s face and was struck with a cold shock when he saw someone who’s eyes were even stranger than his. This was terrible! John loved Sherlock’s unusual eyes. Who was this man? Where were the hives he mentioned and what kind of place was this? Sherlock could hear the buzzing of bees but all he could see were the flowers and bushes around them, “I was just getting ready to check the hives.” the man smiled gently at both of them before sitting up straight, “I always forget. Hello, my name is _Bacchides_. I _am_ your friend, I keep the bees for you and you like to talk with me, or Olivia does. I have known you both for a very long time and I have much to tell you.”

John was not comforted by the man’s smile or friendliness nor the realization that _this_ , whatever it was, was a reoccurring event. The big man was also looking at Sherlock with far more familiarity than the soldier was comfortable with and even sitting down he was still very large. John couldn’t dismiss his instincts that were shrieking that something was a threat but he didn’t know what. He looked around but couldn’t see anything beyond a wooded area that seemed to begin a short distance away, “With a name like Bacchides I would have expected you to have a vineyard.” He sat.

The big man laughed, his stunning eyes delighted and John disliked him even more. It was _him!_ _He_ was the threat. John’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed but that seemed to make the big man smile even more, “Ioannes, suspicious as always. That never changes at least. It gives me comfort.” Bacchides looked fondly at Sherlock, “Wine is something we’ve discussed but haven’t attempted yet. There have been many changes since you arrived. Managing the bees is task enough for me and you are too busy to help as much as you would like.”

John’s jaw clenched. This… _person_ …had some kind of connection to Sherlock? He looked over at the man sitting next to him and wasn’t surprised to see the curious look on his best friend’s face. Dismay filled the doctor. Bacchides was large and though John hated to admit it, very handsome. His hair shone much like Sherlock’s hair shone. His beard was thick but neatly trimmed, and though he looked rough compared to Sherlock John could not help but see that whoever Bacchides was the very fact that he was in charge of _bees_ guaranteed to secure Sherlock’s attention.

Suddenly John felt like the brilliant colours of his tattoo were overcompensating for the blandness of his everything else. The stranger was a fairy tale of perfection and John still looked as common as dirt covered though he was in imagery. Sherlock snorted before sitting himself on John’s bench, “You speak to me as if we are friends. I don’t have _friends_. I have just one.” John felt instantly cheered as Sherlock clarified their situation and wondered at the strange happiness that had filled him when Sherlock had chosen to sit by him.

Bacchides looked at John and laughed happily, “Magnificent, utterly magnificent. No matter how often this happens it’s always the same. You two are quite the pair.” This series of statements only served to make both of them frown at the large man. “Very well, I will begin at the beginning though it makes for a longer tale each time.”

“How long have we been here overall?” demanded Sherlock, he wasn’t sure he liked this Bacchides character. _He kept smiling at John like he knew him!_ Sherlock was feeling very displaced. If they truly were in the past then he would have to rely heavily on John to get him through! Of the two of them John was the only one with a surplus of practical skills. What was he supposed to do here? There was no internet, no libraries, and if he remembered his readings clearly there apparently were barely people! He’d check that fact on his mobile if he had it but what would be the point _there was nothing to network with except bees!_ He was going to go mad! Bees or not there had to be some way of getting back to their London. Unconsciously Sherlock took comfort in John’s steady presence and edged over a tiny bit.

“You arrived in these lands well over two years ago. There was a shipwreck, both of you washed ashore with a great many of your belongings. These lands were once owned by a small family who had been reduced to a single old man; he took you in, cared for you until you both regained your health and in return you purchased this place from him, made astounding improvements, and gave him a splendid funeral when he passed away. Since then Olivia has helped people for miles around us, as have you Ioannes. Everyone who lives here has been the beneficiary of your kind attentions. Your knowledge of medicine is nearly divine though you insist it is not. Both of you are blessed and cursed by the gods for a reason; we have not discovered what it is. The fever that had you when you arrived returns at will and wipes you both clean like a slate when you fail, or at least that is what Olivia believed. You remember all but your time _here_ and each time you must learn anew. Olivia has remarked again and again how boring that is so she has instructed each of us to impart various sorts of information to you in order to reduce the amount of time needed for you to reacquaint yourself with your life.”

 _Two years?_ They had been here for two years and he occupied himself by wandering around being a country doctor? John was strangely reassured by the fact that Sherlock had also elected to share John’s bench rather than take the third one which had clearly been meant for him. John was certain Sherlock was already trying to figure out how to get home, John was useless in that regard. Other than being a doctor what else did John have to offer by way of assistance? Nothing! All he could do was hope to keep them both in one piece long enough for Sherlock to get them back to Baker Street, John didn’t even question that it would happen, he believed in… _was Sherlock sitting closer now?_ “Why am _I_ a _woman_?” asked Sherlock, for the first time sounding angry.

Bacchides laughed again, “Customs and traditions _my Lady_. Ioannes is master of these lands. The master of the lands must be wed. _Here_ it is necessary in order to become a landowner so Ioannes could not remain single. There is no local union that binds man to man, only man to woman therefore _you_ decided on the deception as being the most sensible solution. You make a lovely lady and so far no one has ever caught you or suspected that you are anything but what you seem. Any unusual behaviour of yours is dismissed as you being a foreigner. I witnessed your ceremony myself.”

“We got married so we could buy this place and do _what_ , raise _bees_?” John was having a hard time controlling himself. Sherlock had probably insisted that they wed so John would not have to marry someone local and John was grateful. How could he marry some total stranger just so he could buy a house to live in? _Wait! What did this mean? Did he and Sherlock actually live as a married couple or were they simply in disguise together?_

Bacchides shrugged, “You are rich, you need do nothing. Olivia gets bored though so often she goes out and helps the people, not that they ask her. So far she’s prevented crop disease, solved two minor thefts, discovered _two_ different shellfish from which dye is being made, as well as a new sort of mordant to help with the process, and she’s been working on a new design for the beehives. People have never fared so well. She’s quite amazing.” John stiffened again as Bacchides smiled warmly at Sherlock but then the big man looked at John and his blue eyes seemed to take John inside them, embracing the soldier warmly as his soft soothing voice spoke, “Ioannes is known for more than his healing which is miraculous in its own right. He is a fearsome fighter. We have been assaulted several times from the sea and Ioannes has repelled each attack with valour. The only person who comes close to fighting as well as Ioannes is you Olivia.” There was clear admiration in his voice as well as his eyes as he looked at one and then the other. It made both John and Sherlock frown.

Sherlock sat back as Bacchides smiled at him. He felt uneasy around this man. He was too big and so he’d sat right beside John who was a _properly_ sized man and always made Sherlock feel at ease. Now that massive lug was eyeing John far too intensely! What was wrong with him? _Didn’t he just finish telling them that he and John were married?_ Suddenly Sherlock felt unsteady all over again. What kind of marriage did they have? How deep did the pretence go? Yes they had woken naked in bed pressed together but what of it? That didn’t mean they were lovers, it just meant they had a small bed and apparently no pyjamas. If John was off in the country being a doctor that meant he left Sherlock behind and apparently in _this_ time he could fight. His mind filled with so many different questions but he asked, “Have I had many occasions to demonstrate my skills?” Why would they have needed to fight?

“Many times my friend, many times.” Bacchides sat back and now he looked tired, “Our shores are often attacked, raiders come because the people are gentle, our lands are rich, and our products fetch great prices in many places.”

“Do you know where we come from?” demanded John. All of this was so much to take in. Sherlock had been a fair fighter already thanks to a lifetime of altercations, what kind of fighter was he now that he impressed someone like Bacchides?

Bacchides looked troubled now, “The gods have brought you from a far land, a place filled with wonders. You have brought many ideas with you; you have made many changes in a very short amount of time.” he sighed deeply, “Whatever requirement the gods have laid upon you remains unfulfilled. While you are with us you do what you can for yourselves and the people. In return we guard your secret and keep your home. It is an unfair exchange since we the people get so much from both of you; all who live here are devoted to you until death.”

Sherlock was taken aback. There was so much to absorb and now discovering they had a thriving community around them that _depended_ on them. He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. Uncomfortably his transport began to notify him that he had rolled out of bed and had definitely forgotten to pause to take care of business. _Oh gods! Did that mean…outdoor plumbing?_ Sherlock groaned internally but he had to ask sooner or later, “Where are the facilities?”

Bacchides looked confused for a moment but apparently Sherlock’s expression was enough of a clue, “Ah yes my lady, right this way. Ioannes, I imagine you’ll need this too.” He got up and strode back to the house. He led them through and the air seemed to get damper as Bacchides took them to stone room. There was a low stone shelf built up on flat stone pieces that had a series of roughly oval shapes cut out of it along with a bowl of clay disks and a shallow pot set to the side. “No.” said Sherlock. That could _not_ be the toilet.

“You’re joking.” said John looking around. “We own everything for miles around but this is where we go to the bathroom?”

Bacchides laughed and shrugged, “This came with the house. I’ll give you a few minutes and meet you in the courtyard. I’ll take you to see one of the improvements.”

Sherlock looked at the arrangement with dismay. He understood how to use it, of course he did, and John was just cluing in, “There’s no paper.”

“No John, not exactly,” Sherlock motioned toward the bowl of disks, “Three is considered adequate unless sitting is unnecessary.”

John fidgeted and Sherlock could feel his cheeks grown hot. He wasn’t _embarrassed_ about his bodily functions. Everyone had them; it was as ridiculous as feeling embarrassed about his need to breathe! Still. This was a little more rustic than he’d been prepared to handle. It became even more awkward when someone came from the house, glanced at them and then proceeded to relieve themselves before going back to work. John and Sherlock stood there uncomfortably and finally Sherlock said it first, “I need to sit.”

John was going to die from sheer mortification. He didn’t know why he felt so discomfited! He’d been in the army for gods sake! He’d been forced to witness thousands of people use the facilities in all sorts of circumstances, “I’ll just…give you a minute then.” John needed to pee but not badly enough to stand near Sherlock while he…sat.

John walked away. This was all so much. His bladder was screaming at him now but he waited for Sherlock, this was already going to be uncomfortable for the consulting detective, he didn’t need an audience. Several minutes later a scowling Sherlock appeared, “At least water is in abundance.” he snapped, “We have to figure out how to get home!”

John took his turn while Sherlock stomped around angrily and waited for his soldier to take his turn and snarled away someone who had clearly been headed to the loo while John was there. At least Sherlock had been able to wash his hands thoroughly and whatever it was they were using for soap was appropriately effective but still! _Clay tablets? How far from the stone-age were they? It’s doorstep?_ That had been the most uncomfortab…no. He refused to think about it. When John came back Sherlock glared at him, “We’re going home as soon as possible.”

“Good.” said John firmly. “Come on Sherlock; let’s see this big mysterious improvement. I still can’t quite believe we’re where we are but it’s getting hard to deny.” John stopped walking, “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.”

Sherlock found that he’d moved until he was standing almost directly in front of his best friend, reaching out for him, “I know John. We’ll figure it out.” he said firmly and saw a small smile, “I want to go home with you.”

“Me too Sherlock.” John didn’t think about taking Sherlock’s hand, he just did it and the two of them were nearly at the end of the corridor before they noticed. John almost pulled away and then stiffened his spine. Sherlock was his _wife_ here, some affection must be shown, surely? Resolute he simply refused to let go when Sherlock’s fingers relaxed and he repressed a relieved sigh when Sherlock simply took a firmer grip himself and allowed John to guide him forward.

They entered a large chamber and Bacchides was there beaming hugely at them, “It’s nearly done. It’s a miracle from beginning to end, only Olivia could have convinced this many artisans to work together and so fast!” The air smelled damp and steamy, there was a mix of gentle scents as well and Sherlock’s eyes brightened, “A bath!”

“Yes!” said Bacchides with delight, “This is the best idea ever to come to these lands. Everyone is excited to see them open.” with a dramatic sweep of his arm Bacchides smiled down at John and said, “This way.”

Sherlock scowled at the tall man. _He should not be making eyes at John_. John was _his_ husband, not some piece of walking eye-candy! Still, the freshly constructed building deserved some attention so Sherlock tore his eyes away from Bacchides who had failed to fall dead at their feet and looked around. It was all actually quite splendid. Sherlock could see the design had relied heavily on a mixture of Greek and Turkish architecture. “I designed this?”

“You did.” said Bacchides fondly, “You sent off for all the finest craftsmen you could locate, which was a great many by the way, brought them all here and for six months they did nothing but labour on this. You knew exactly what you wanted. The boilers have been filled and the system tested. It’s ready.”

“It’s ready?” Sherlock looked around. If he remembered correctly ancient Turkish baths were the penultimate luxury and they had one in their home! He grew cautiously excited. Being trapped in the past might not be entirely miserable. “Explain.”

“What’s to explain Olivia? You browbeat everyone for a radius of five hundred miles until you got what you wanted. Ioannes tells me this did not surprise him.”

John shrugged, it didn’t. He loved this bath thing and felt grateful that Sherlock had caused it to be built. He couldn’t imagine how it had been accomplished. It was stone from top to bottom, fancy stone, Sherlock probably found the rarest and most beautiful stones around to do this. John had no idea but it looked pretty. The air smelled delectable too and he wanted to wash up. “How does it work?”

“We can be the first to go through it. All the new staff are here and have recovered from their various journeys.” Bacchides smiled encouragingly.

“What staff?” John sounded ridiculous, he knew he did. He was just being useless, shouting out anything that came to his head like a child!

“Where in the world would we import staff from?” demanded Sherlock.

“ _All_ over the world.” said Bacchides, “You have found specialists for things I did not even know existed and convinced all of them to come here. Your wealth is great; you have afforded this region many good things. Your offer was not difficult to accept. Come, we will tour it together.”

It was decadent. There was a room where warm water sluiced down to wash their bodies clean before they entered. A cool room with a small pool was followed by another room with a very warm shallow pool in it and radiating away from there were other small rooms filled with steam. Attendant stood by, all of them smiling shyly at the pair of them, “Would you like to take the first pass through?”

John looked around as Bacchides addressed him, “Yes, if Sherlock does.”

“Well you’re not going through here alone!” said Sherlock who sounded highly offended. What kind of fool did Bacchides think Sherlock was? The detective remembered very well the gender restrictions of the old days but fakery or not he was never going to allow John to go through an elaborate bathing process with that hairy mountain!

Bacchides just smiled, “I look forward to your report. I’ll see you at the mid-day meal.” and with those words he simply walked away leaving Sherlock and John standing hand in hand in the middle of a pool room. Like magic several people materialized. They all seemed small, dark-skinned, and hardly dressed but they smiled encouragingly and got John and Sherlock to stand beneath an elaborately carved animal head. After pulling away their clothes both men stood there completely naked and more than a little embarrassed but a sluice opened and suddenly sheets of warm water washed over them.

The bath experience had begun.

 


	5. The Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being caught in the past hasn't been so horrid yet, especially since there seems to be a bit of a treat waiting for them.

They were given bathing costumes. With a small smile an older woman had come right up to Sherlock and deftly wrapped a length of fine linen around his hips and between his thighs. She then wrapped another length around his chest, ostensibly covering the breasts he didn’t have, “This is unnecessary.” He moved to pull it off but the she put her hand on his to stop him.

“Lady Olivia, this is the third time we’ve discussed this.” said the woman, “I am Zakiyah, you brought me here from a city far to the west though that is not where I am from. I live here now and this is where I work. I know you quite well so allow me to ask you to be quiet and to just enjoy.”

“Excuse me?” exclaimed Sherlock. That was rather audacious of a servant in this era wasn’t it?

“You are excused Lady Olivia.” said the woman solemnly, “I shall remind you again that you are a _Lady_ and that _Ladies_ do not expose themselves to the casual glance of others. This is a habit you must break for the master’s sake. If your deception is discovered simply because you neglected something simple then…”

“I understand.” snapped Sherlock who stopped trying to stop her. He was a woman now. He had to be a woman all the time, not just when he felt like it. Sherlock scowled at a far wall and suffered to have his long hair tied back. There were a mix of boys and girls tending them, all of them youthful looking but with wise eyes that disturbed Sherlock greatly.

John’s eyes were popping out of his head because Sherlock had been gloriously naked and John’s attendant almost didn’t get him covered in time. Only the presence of so many others prevented John from physically reacting to Sherlock’s nudity beyond a slight swelling that subsided when the woman chided Sherlock on his disguise. He looked around and tried to take in some of the details. The complex itself was elegant, each detail carefully planned so that austerity and art met in perfect balance with utility. Now that they were properly garbed the bath really began. John risked one more glance at Sherlock and his breath caught when he saw Sherlock’s long ringlets piled gracefully high on the back of his neck, caught with a brightly coloured ribbon. They were ushered to a pair of low stone couches but before they were allowed to lay down they were given the most thorough washing John had ever experienced.

Each man had two youths attend him, one boy and one girl. They looked like two sets of twins and Zakiyah nodded, “They were with a group of bandits that attacked here, they don’t know where they are from so you took them in and I trained them. They were to be sold into the flesh markets. This is a better life, yes?” John looked down at the children who had sponges on long sticks and were lathering every last inch of him with determination. He had to nod and swallowed hard. _These poor little mites_ , he thought to himself, maybe it was a bit embarrassing to be a grown man getting a bath from children but they were learning a profession and suddenly John was glad they were here. He didn’t want to think about their other life options if they were not in this place.

Once Sherlock and John had been scrubbed nearly raw from head to toe and covered in a thick layer of fragrant foam they were showered off until they were squeaky clean before they were led to a chamber that had low fabric partitions in place so that Sherlock disappeared behind a screen but John could see his head and shoulders as he was tended by Zakiyah and three other ladies. John frowned a bit but he was being tended by a group of young men and he could see Sherlock scowling back. “What are you doing?”

“Observe Lady Olivia.” chided Zakiyah. His scant layers were removed and set aside and then Sherlock watched as a creamy paste was smoothed over his entire body in a thin layer. The women worked with efficient smoothness, ignoring the biological evidence that he was not female and covering everything but his penis and face with the fragrant concoction. “We wait.” She said and got Sherlock to stand awkwardly near the wall. It was very warm and Sherlock realized that whatever process heated the water was also heating the bricks of the wall. The paste was being dried by the radiant heat and it tingled. After twenty minutes or so Sherlock was encased in a hard shell and was incredibly displeased with the sensation, he was less pleased when the removal process began.

“John they are peeling me like an egg!” he shouted at his husband, “This is highly unpleasant!”

“You wanted to be a woman, this is what women endure. Try to be less manly and try to be _silent_.” chided Zakiyah as she worked to do exactly as Sherlock described. The paste shell pulled away any trace of body hair as well as anything else that wasn’t firmly attached and it hurt. Once it was all gone Sherlock suffered to be rubbed from head to toe with a grainy sweet smelling compound that removed the last of the clay dust and the top layer of his skin. When he was sanded to a smooth finish Sherlock then enjoyed having his face rubbed with another compound that removed any trace of a beard or moustache. He was scowling heavily now as Zakiyah oversaw the threading of his eyebrows, the hairs deftly removed as they shaped them to whatever it was the women of these ancient times seemed to prefer.

John listened to Sherlock’s yelps and shouts with some trepidation. His attendants shaved his face closely with a brass blade that seemed razor sharp. They did carefully shaved him everywhere but his upper lip, “Why aren’t you…”

One of the boys seemed to understand, “In the land of your people the men grow their hair there.”

John thought of the image they’d based his tattoos on. That man had a huge moustache. John was not growing something like that on his face. “No. All of it comes off. I’m in a different land now. Go on.” they shave him clean. He’d need to speak to Sherlock before he committed to something horrendous like an enormous moustache. John’s finger and toe nails were then trimmed and his feet were placed in a small tub of hot water before they were sanded smooth with handfuls of rough feeling paste. It made his feet tingle. John was then sat in a slat-backed chair near a warm wall to relax beneath a sheet that had been infused with something that made it feel heavy and buttery. He listened to Sherlock complain the rest of the way through his treatment, wincing whenever Sherlock made real pained exclamations. Whatever they were doing to him didn’t sound very fun. When silence resumed John’s sheet was taken away and he was led to the other end of Sherlock’s partitioned space.

Sherlock was in agony. This was hell. When every inch of him had been tortured to its fullest Zakiyah wrapped his sodden linens back on. John appeared and the pair of them were led to a warm shallow pool to soak in privacy. “This is a bit more than a quick run through the shower.” noted John. He didn’t know what to say. Sherlock looked bright pink from head to toe but he also looked flawless and almost glowing.

Sherlock was sitting in the water with his arms crossed, still scowling. His bra was damp and it felt heavy. It was constricting his breathing a bit too and he was fairly sure it was slipping down but he refused to fix it. “Indeed.” he said sullenly.

John bit his lip. He didn’t want to tell Sherlock that he looked absolutely adorable but he did. Their enthusiastic ablutions had brought a rosy glow to Sherlock’s skin as well as a lovely blush to his cheeks. A renegade ringlet had escaped and was plastered to his neck. The pout on his lips only made John want to kiss him and without realizing it he slid right over and put his arm around Sherlock’s waist, “You alright?”

Sherlock couldn’t help how much better he felt the second John moved closer and when the soldier put his arm around him Sherlock automatically put his arm over John’s shoulder and leaned his head on top of John’s. Neither man wanted to move apart or discuss how familiar they were being, “My head hurts.” Sherlock didn’t exactly have a headache but the shock of all the changes was difficult to absorb and it would not stop its made whirling and dancing as he struggle to explain what had happened.

“I bet it does, I can’t even imagine how you’re going to sort this out.” Sherlock smiled. John had such faith in him, he always did. John believed one hundred percent in Sherlock, the detective did not question John’s devotion or support. Also, his hand was moving up and down Sherlock’s side as John unconsciously soothed both of them and it felt deliciously decadent.

Sherlock allowed his fingers to trail over one of the tattoos on John’s shoulder. It felt different than his uncoloured skin, not exactly rough but firmer than the surrounding flesh, “Does it feel odd?”

“No, I can’t actually feel it. Does it look weird?” Sherlock allowed himself to lean back and examine John closely, “So?”

“It looks extraordinary. I recall doing the pattern but I cannot explain the colours.” There were so many, the shades melting into one another yet leaving crisp details behind. The sun on John’s shoulder was brilliantly rendered and the face on his stomach was as fearsome looking as John had hoped it would be. Sherlock resisted the urge to touch the detailed lines on the backs of John’s thighs, one day perhaps.

“How’d you even learn how to do it?” John had wondered a bit while it was being done but he’d been drunk and content to let Sherlock do pretty much whatever he wanted with him.

“I didn’t. I watched a woman do one once, I just recalled her technique and reproduced the pattern you desired.” It hadn’t been difficult. Sherlock had excellent hand-eye coordination. He’d spent a good part of his formative years painstakingly drawing charts for botanical sketches and later on for dissections, he knew how to be accurate. Using a different medium was just a matter of concentration.

“I’m glad I married a genius. It’s what I deserve.” said John cheekily and Sherlock had to chuckle. “Seriously though Sherlock, what would we have done if one of us needed to marry someone else?”

“I would _kill_ them.” replied Sherlock instantly before he bit his lip. He wasn’t supposed to be jealous. He was John’s _friend_ , not his actual spouse.

John just laughed easily and sat back, “No divorce for us then, eh?” he nudged Sherlock, “Come on _wife_ , relax a bit.”

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled back into John’s arms, the pout long gone as they soaked in the warmth together. After a while another attendant came to lead them to the next pool which was much hotter and there they lingered contentedly, John’s arm about Sherlock’s waist loosely while Sherlock kept his arm draped over John’s shoulders. Neither man wanted to discuss their new-found intimate state. Just when Sherlock was beginning to feel too warm Zakiyah appeared to lead them to their stone couches, “You will like this.” she promised.

A tall woman came with a small bowl of clear scented oil and with Zakiyah they rubbed Sherlock and John down from head to toe, massaging out every last kink and stress knot ever to have existed in either man since the day they were born. By the time the women were done Sherlock wasn’t sure he could work his muscular system properly but he rose off the couch feeling more graceful than ever, his entire body limber and flexible.

John rolled his shoulder, “Wow. That feels amazing!” Zakiyah looked approving, “Look Sherlock, I can rotate my arm!” John could. He made a big circle with his left arm and Sherlock smiled broadly while John grinned up at him.

Sherlock felt happy for John. His shoulder troubled him so much and there were many times Sherlock wished he knew something to give his friend relief. He made a note to ask Zakiyah to teach him how to massage John’s shoulder properly. “I’m glad John.”

Sherlock’s torment was not done. While hidden behind a raised curtain his damp linens were removed and he was redressed in a garment that was made of a long length of fine cloth. _Chiton_ , his mind supplied. His attendants brought him to another stone couch where his head was suspended over a shallow sink and his hair was washed with a series of products before it was hand-dried and oiled. He was then sat on a stone plinth softened only with a thin cushion while his long curls were teased into a long graceful coil that fell down his spine. John seemed dumbstruck and Sherlock felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Wow…Sherlock…you look…” John wasn’t blinking. He was standing there in his kilt once more and he just looked at Sherlock like he never wanted to stop. Sherlock was certain he was blushing now because John’s smile went crooked and his voice was teasing, “You look beautiful _my Lady_.”

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t really a woman and it shouldn’t matter what he was wearing or how his hair was done. Why was he blushing anyway? John wasn’t really calling him beautiful, he was teasing him but also putting his arm around Sherlock’s waist and leading him out of the bathhouse.

John couldn’t help himself. He had to touch Sherlock. His skin was a delicate feeling as it looked and he smelled delicious. John’s mouth watered. How was he supposed to control himself? He couldn’t force himself on Sherlock just because the man looked so heartbreakingly gorgeous that John wanted to cry. Sherlock was a vision. He’d always been handsome but witnessing his transformation into the elegant creature by his side had left the doctor quite breathless. No. Sherlock was his best friend, not some piece of flesh John got off on. Holding onto Sherlock like this was something John could not stop himself from doing but the detective wasn’t pulling away or showing any signs of discomfort. In fact Sherlock’s arm was settling around John’s shoulder like he’d done when they were in the pool together and John smiled anew, “Can I escort you to lunch my Lady?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled, “I would be delighted to join my husband for lunch.” John loved how Sherlock’s eyes looked so bright and happy. They stayed that way right until they caught sight of Bacchides standing just outside the exit. He looked like he was full of questions, a huge smile on his face, “I suppose he’s joining us.”

“I suppose.” said John stiffly. Against his will his hand tightened on Sherlock’s waist but the detective made no protest, his large hand rubbing John’s shoulder thoughtfully instead, “We need more answers. You might as well see what you can learn while we eat. Come on wife, let’s see what we can find out.”

Yes. He had so many questions and he wasn’t about to be distracted by a detailed bath. Sherlock hoped Bacchides was filling his eyes with John’s possessive posturing and was making note of Sherlock’s visible claim on the doctor as well. John was absolutely magnificent in his kilt, his walk almost aggressive as he strode forward. Oh John _was_ magnificent, by the gods Sherlock was tempted, oh so tempted to kiss him. He could couldn’t he? John was his husband, how did husbands and wives show affection in this era? Sherlock sighed to himself and indulged himself as much as he could with the hand on John’s shoulder. Dorus had told him he had comportment lessons in the afternoon. He’d ask whatever instructor he had about appropriate actions to retain his plausible cover as John’s wife. “Lead the way my husband.”

Bacchides was beaming hugely, “Look at you two! You’ve built the fountain of youth. Olivia, you look divine.” John scowled at the huge man.

Sherlock sniffed, “John does not care what I look like. If appearances did not require maintenance I should never have bothered with any of this.”

“I’m sure the look on his face then is him not caring a whit.” said Bacchides with a smirk and John had to try and wipe the fatuous expression off before Sherlock could see it. He wasn’t sure if he was successful or not but regardless Sherlock did not remove his arm from around him.

“John has a fine aesthetic sensibility. Despite his many fashion crimes he does have laudable taste in things he deems skilful. Zakiyah and the others are very talented, that’s all.” Sherlock wasn’t sure why he felt so prickly over Bacchides’ attempted compliment.

John’s stomach rumbled and Bacchides laughed again, “Well no matter how your husband views you it is still time for our mid-day meal. Come along you two. Let’s see what cook has made for us today.” Bacchides walked away clearly assuming they would simply follow him. Since they didn’t know the layout of their home as he did both men simply shrugged and sighed together, “Well my dearest,” said Sherlock primly, “take me to lunch.” No matter how long it took Sherlock was going to move heaven and earth to get back to their London. Determination filled him as they followed Bacchides, questions needed to be asked and he would not be distracted any longer.

 

 


	6. Scraps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's lunchtime and Sherlock is determined to get some answers!

Bacchides led them to a vast and airy chamber that featured several low tables surrounded by what looked like beds with huge rolled cushions that pushed up against the heavy table top. “Like this,” instructed Bacchides who lay down almost on his belly but turned slightly to the side.

The tables were set apart so that the servants could deliver platters of food to them the instant all three of them were in place. Sherlock looked at everything suspiciously, “We lay here to eat?”

“You complain about that every time. It bears mentioning.” said Bacchides with the now familiar fondness in his voice, “Yes Lady Olivia, this is the customary posture adopted by the people of this particular region during mealtimes. It allows the guests to speak to one another face to face and once you become accustomed to it, it is actually very comfortable. In this house we have changed some of the customs or you would be waiting your turn with all the other womenfolk. Since you arrived meals are shared by men and women together, unlike before when we kept ourselves apart from one another. This small change has freed up much of our day which allows our people time to indulge in their secondary crafts or past-times. Also you _like_ sharing a couch with Ioannes.”

Sherlock paused mid-move, partially on the same padded bench that John was already reclining on. His cheeks flushed again but he just shrugged, “He is my husband in this time, I am a stranger to these lands and to these ways. Why would I wish to be anywhere but by his side?” Sherlock couldn’t even imagine. As long as he and John were together their odds of overcoming obstacles were greatly increased.

Sherlock arranged himself next to John, their bodies close together but not so close that they were touching. If one of them needed to move quickly it wouldn’t do to become tangled up and it was awkward enough trying to move inside the chiton which was billowy and felt like wearing a pair of drapes. John had automatically taken the place closest to the entrance, shielding Sherlock from anyone who might come in, naturally doing what he always did which was protect Sherlock. In turn Sherlock was free to examine and question everything, safe behind the Wall of John while he picked the world apart. Sherlock was going to get them home, together! Sherlock looked at Bacchides coldly, how dare he question his proximity to John? _It was simple logic. John had dissimilar but complimentary skills to Sherlock’s, that’s why they worked so well together, everyone knew that. Well, maybe not_ here _but back home, everyone knew that!_ Sherlock scowled at Bacchides who simply smiled as if charmed. “Tell us what you know of our situation.” demanded Sherlock.

Bacchides rolled his eyes and nodded toward the doorway where young women were appearing with trays what seemed mostly bread and servings of wine, “Can we eat first or do we have to starve until your curiosity is sated because that takes a long time for there is much to tell.”

“ _Starve_.” said Sherlock testily and he would have demanded it if John’s stomach hadn’t grumbled, “Fine. We’ll eat but we can speak at the same time. Try not to spit.”

“I’m not an uncouth animal.” said Bacchides who showed no sign of being offended or even surprised at Sherlock’s ongoing hostility. John studied the man openly. “We have adjusted many customs in this house to accommodate Lady Olivia; perhaps some mention should be made. From the lands in which you were born you bring the idea that all are in some fashion equal though from the stories I have heard it seems that people are anything but. That is not the matter I wish to highlight though. In _these_ times and in _these_ lands men and women live very different lives. To fit in Olivia has been forced to make some personal adjustments but in return she has demanded other changes. The people benefit but it also makes us stand out and invites increased attacks.”

“Attacks? You mean like actual attacks, not just a bunch of grumpy diplomats?” asked John incredulously.

“Ioannes you will be training while Lady Olivia resumes her lessons this afternoon. Hopefully your body remembers more than your mind. Olivia gets very sharp when you come home bruised.” John’s mouth fell open in shock but Bacchides seemed endlessly amused at their discomfiture. “I know it seems like a lot to take in. This life to you must seem a terrible dream. You come from a world I can barely fathom; indeed I do not understand the vast majority of what you have told me. Despite these setbacks you have done well for the people here and part of the price you pay to have such a life is the endless duty to repel those who would seize all for themselves.”

“I can’t do this by myself.” stated John. No matter how good a warrior he supposedly was one man couldn’t possibly protect the entire land alone.

“Of course not Ioannes, this is another marvellous change Olivia has insisted upon. _All_ the residents of your lands have undergone training of various degrees and you leave no home unarmed. Your people favour quarterstaffs over most weapons because they are useful for other tasks and chores. You of course must practice sword-craft and other battle techniques but you both have a fighting style no one has seen before and together you have yet to be defeated.”

“That implies that we have been defeated singly.” accused Sherlock, “What of _that_ matter? Why should we trust what you say? How are we to believe anything anyone tells us? This entire scenario is highly implausible. I am a man of science and I require incontrovertible proof before I accept your words as fact.”

Bacchides looked proud.  “You are a marvel Olivia, such courage despite everything.” he waved one of the servants forward, “ _Kylix_ , that is the cup from which you drink. The bread is made from grains that have grown here for centuries. It has been grown and ground by the people of this place; _your_ people who are people being prepared for your departure. That has always been the plan. You will find a way back to your strange home and leave us behind. How you are doing that has always been the problem, the final problem. You had no wish to rule, no wish to gain responsibility for so many but who else was to do it? The old man who saved you, his family had been taken from him one person at a time by the very villains you yourselves have foiled on more than one occasion. The changes you have wrought, the changes you are still making, all of them have made the people stronger, prouder, richer, happier, and freer than they’ve ever been before.”

“You say we washed up in a storm?” John needed to begin at the beginning. He wasn’t like Sherlock; he couldn’t just take the tag ends of information and put together a coherent picture. He needed something more tangible.

Bacchides looked solemnly at the solider, “It raged for days before you arrived. The gods were clearly angry, we knew not how to appease them. In desperation the fishermen tried to save their crafts, the old man stood by the water to help as he could, frail though he was. He spotted you both lashed together on a raft made of wooden chests. He had you brought to his home, all your possessions retrieved as we could find them along the shores, and nursed you back to health. His name was Aeolis.”

“You said he passed.” John watched Bacchides break off a piece from a loaf of bread and dip it into his kylix of wine. Moving gracefully he brought the piece to his mouth and ate it. John copied his actions and found it acceptable. Sherlock hadn’t bothered yet but then, they were only beginning the questioning.

Bacchides nodded and took one more bite before continuing, “These shores have been ravaged for generations. Aeolis’s family was old, as bound to these hills and shores as the seas and stones themselves. They had enemies as all old families do but these ones come by sea over which we have no mastery. Again and again have we fallen, left alone only long enough to recover a bit and then we are attacked again. Others have grown fat upon from our labours, that is, until you two washed ashore.”

“What happened?” John was willing to concede that Bacchides was an alright storyteller, at least, he was interested. Sherlock was scowling so hard it was a wonder the big man hadn’t burst into flames already. Clearly the detective was wishing for less embellishment and more facts but John recognized the ancient cadences and knew that this was how they were going to hear their tale and no amount of frowning from Sherlock was going to change that. To distract his partner John pushed Sherlock’s kylix closer and tore a piece of bread off for him. Offering it firmly and without looking John waited until he heard a frustrated huff from the man next to him and supressed a smile when Sherlock finally began to eat as they listened.

Bacchides looked at Sherlock fondly, “You were so angry. You shouted at everyone and no one could hide their secrets from you. In your rage you exposed everyone around you, sparing no one, not even Aeolis. The people were convinced the gods had sent you and despite your insistence that belief has never shifted. If anything all you have done has only enforced their belief that you are at least blessed by the gods and that what might seem like madness in another was merely a sign of that blessing. Your ability to see the truth has helped us uncover vipers at our breast but too late to save you from being taken. It barely a month after you first arrived, both of you were still so weak. Ioannes rose from his sickbed to find you. They were slavers but after Ioannes found them they were nothing. Aeolis offered the lands to Ioannes while he was still hale and with great reluctance you accepted. Olivia came up with the idea to be disguised as a woman in order to provide Ioannes the legal status to claim ownership and so it was done. Aeolis did not last long beyond that but he died content and when you performed the funeral rites any king would have not been laid to rest with less honor.”

“So everyone believes two northerners washed ashore with a lot of money and just took over?” John still couldn’t wrap his head around that. “One chest of treasure doesn’t add up to a whole country’s worth of money.”

“ _One_ chest?” Bacchides’ heavy eyebrows rose, “Ah. The chest in your room. No, that’s just the interesting pieces Olivia likes. The rest of your treasure is in the _treasury_ of course. You washed ashore with nearly a dozen such chests. You could not explain where you obtained them and we have heard no stories from afar that speaks of its loss. You have cautiously questioned every friendly traveller you have come across this entire time and none have given you any other answer. Olivia decided it must have been _ill-gotten gain_ , or at least that’s what she called it, and declared it fair game to utilize as long as it wasn’t for selfish reasons. She has caused the baths to be created as well as other wonders, all for the people.”

“What of John?” demanded Sherlock with irritation. His role sounded like make-work, something he did to pass the time. Building baths and improving dye formulas? Solving agricultural problems and wandering around desperate for a distraction? None of what he was learning was filling him with positivity. Of course he had the _capability_ to be a ruler; the Holmes family did nothing but train generation after generation of people to do exactly that but _behind the scenes_. To rule out in the open like this, _that_ went against everything within Sherlock’s nature but then he looked over at the small man beside him and saw determination on his husband’s face. John was made to be a king. He would _want_ to protect and help the people and Sherlock would want to help John. It made sense, in a way. He sighed and looked at Bacchides, his previous scowl returning. The look that man was giving John was… _not good_. It was too openly admiring, too appreciative, _too knowing_. Sherlock did not like it.

“We were attacked again, retribution for what John had done to the slavers.” John shifted uncomfortably because Bacchides seemed to be eating him up with his eyes again. Without realizing it Sherlock and John drew closer together, their thighs and hips pressed together as they listened, “It was unexpected and savage but John did not hesitate. He took up his sword and shield and simply cut them down. There were many but none of them expected Olivia.” Bacchides’ eyes slid over to Sherlock and now John was the one scowling as the tall man’s heated glance flickered over Sherlock, “How she moved, how lethal, how strong, how reckless. She was a storm and _Ioannes_ ,” Bacchides’ eyes moved to John and they were hotter than ever, “you were the centre. It was devastating. Astounding. Amazing!”

Both men drew back as they heard John’s favourite compliment fall from the big man’s lips. “They tried to kill you and failed miserably. Ioannes laughed when you were down to the very last one and to humiliate your enemy even more you tended his wounds before you sent him on his way to caution all who would try to come after. They did not listen and all of them have paid a blood-price for their arrogance.”

Sherlock sniffed. “John is a soldier. They were foolish to test him.” John was an incredible warrior. Sherlock didn’t need some ridiculously huge walking carpet to tell him that. John was powerful and commanding, cold and calculating while battle raged around him, an entirely different sort of John than the one that fell apart when challenged by the chip and pin machine at the markets. Sherlock had never once doubted John’s ability to protect him, only his own ability to keep his best friend from suffering the worst of the consequences from their many apparently insane actions. What could Sherlock do? They lived a risky life but John would have it no other way nor would Sherlock.

“What about you, my Lady?” asked Bacchides almost tenderly, “Where do your skills come from? Not even Ioannes had an answer for that but you fight with ferocity and precision.”

Sherlock flushed. He had an idea and he would _die_ before he confessed it. “Perhaps the same place the colours on John’s markings are there, it simply is something that is.” To distract John from the question Sherlock retrieved some dried fruit to taste. Finding it acceptable he gave one to John who ate it without looking.

John leaned over and Sherlock shivered as he whispered almost inaudibly into his ear, “You watched the _entire_ series didn’t you. I knew you were practicing when I was at work! I’m getting you a chakram somehow.” Sherlock pretended he hadn’t heard John’s amused accusation but he couldn’t stop his face from turning red. _John knew!_ Sherlock had no idea how his body had acquired the skills he’d seen on an under-budgeted television programme but apparently if you could travel back into the past and take your flatmate with you, you could do anything. John pulled away, hiding his amusement as he glanced over at Bacchides, “At least my kilt is here.” said John who seemed perfectly at ease to anyone who wasn’t Sherlock. John’s entire body was poised to move. If Bacchides or anyone made any sort of a threatening move they would be getting a face full of Watson. Sherlock approved and now slouched almost indolently against his husband. “I can fight in it at least. In your kit I don’t know how you manage, love.”

Sherlock froze as the endearment fell artlessly from John’s lips. The soldier didn’t even seem to notice he had said it but Bacchides did and his smile grew slightly larger, “It’s all in the hips.” Sherlock quoted one of John’s favourite movie lines and predictably John giggled before stopping himself. Sherlock loved making John laugh and their inside jokes had made many an unpleasant occasion bearable. Sherlock tucked away the sound of John calling him love deep into a safe-room of his mind palace and continued to question Bacchides. “How far do our lands extend? What is expected of us?”

Sherlock needed to learn as much about this place as he could, John understood that. He knew his friend would be feeling the separation from technology keenly as he tried to sift answers from his quick observations and the few bits of information they’d been given. When Sherlock pressed his body against John he felt powerful and he looked at Bacchides as if to say _See? It’s me he relies on. Not anyone else. No matter who you are we are always together._ John tore another bit of bread from the loaf and handed it to Sherlock before getting a bit for himself. Sherlock found a platter with cheeses on it and took two pieces similar to the ones they’d tried at breakfast and gave one to John. Together they ate and it seemed to please Bacchides greatly.

Bacchides continued to speak. He told them of how John had shared his knowledge freely and with Sherlock both men had taught people how to render medicines from the materials around them, how to care for themselves hygienically, and the basic life habits that almost immediately improved the general health of all. Diets were inspected and commented on, and Sherlock turned out to be a surprisingly good nutrition resource but only because he’d worked several cases where seafood and natural toxins had been employed. Luckily he hadn’t deleted the information from his mind palace and was able to craft a rudimentary laboratory to refine the products of nature. “Then there were the bees.”

“What about the bees?” asked John, Sherlock did love bees to distraction, John knew that Bacchides had Sherlock’s full attention now.

“There have always been beekeepers around here but Olivia determined the maximum efficacious placement of a multitude of hives, encouraging the people to allow certain meadows and woodlands to remain untouched to feed and shelter the wee beasts. Now we produce enough honey that all homes have an abundance of it, and we still have enough left over to sell or trade in the cities. You have organized a network that spans many city states and through John you have made many agreements to accept the sales of our manufactured goods. The people prosper thanks to you; they are healthy and flourishing, again, thanks to you.”

“What of our attempts to return home? What do you know of that?” Sherlock didn’t want to think of the good they were doing. It was all well and fine for the people but the more they did the less likely it was that John should ever want to leave. He was born to serve in this way but not Sherlock. He needed to go home. “What have we learned?”

Bacchides looked troubled, “We don’t know much. In a day or so all your memories of living here should return to you, or they have in the past. In the event that they do not each person who serves in this home retains a piece of information for you, much like myself.” Bacchides hesitated, “There is a small thing I should mention.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed because Bacchides suddenly looked uncomfortable, “What?” he demanded, “Whatever it is, tell me.”

Bacchides took a drink of his wine and sat up a tiny bit, “It is springtime.” he announce gravely.

John and Sherlock looked at each other. Was it? What of it. Sherlock’s head rotated forward again and he stared at Bacchides, “Is that significant?”

Bacchides actually looked flustered now, “Well, not so much for me but for you two…Ioannes is the master, remember, and you Olivia are his wife. There are certain…rites and responsibilities you must live up to.”

John was a bit surprised when the large man actually blushed furiously and looked away. He was getting an inkling and he wasn’t ready to think about that. Sherlock looked down at John and from the corner of his eye John saw Sherlock’s head jerk upward as the same idea occurred to him. Once again Sherlock demanded an answer from the beekeeper, “What rites? What responsibilities?”

Bacchides cleared his throat, “Well, you are the land and the land must be fertilized, you may not believe in the gods but the people do so…”

Sherlock moved back so he was sitting on his knees and staring across the tables in utter shock, “We have to…”

“I’m afraid so my Lady. It must be you and the master.” Bacchides sounded almost apologetic but there was a gleam in his eye.

“If we don’t?” Sherlock suspected the crops would grow and whatever livestock they kept would still flourish but he waited.

“The people understand the world a certain way my friends. To them the gods are everywhere and they must be honoured. To the people _you_ are clearly connected to the gods, they are proud of that connection. For you to forgo these rites a second time…of course last year you could not…”

“Why?” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, if he’d gotten out of a fertility rite with John once perhaps he could do so again.

“Unless you can reconstruct a month long fever for yourself which we all know you can do there is no way out of this. The ritual is tomorrow.” Bacchides seemed to need another sip.

John now pushed himself to his knees, “Tomorrow? Sherlock and I have to do _what_ exactly tomorrow?” This couldn’t be good. Spring rites were by their very nature very…organic. John regretted sitting up as his body began to wonder exactly how these rites would transpire.

“Sex.” said Sherlock flatly and Bacchides nodded, “Where?”

Bacchides had the good grace to look abashed a second time, “The king field. It’s the common field everyone uses for large crops for sale.”

“ _We have to have sex in a field?_ ” shouted John angrily, “What kind of barbaric ritual is that?”

“A fairly common one.” said Sherlock. His voice hadn’t gotten warmer or softer. “Does this one require an audience?”

John gasped in horror when Bacchides nodded slowly, “Not directly, they’ll be within listening distance but no one is going to actually watch you. _Seed must be sown, the fields must be blessed_. It is expected.” John didn’t know what to think. His head was spinning. They were in a different time, in a different land, and at some point tomorrow he would have to do his hardest to _fertilize_ Sherlock in order to satisfy the local conventions. What was he going to do? How was he going to be able to perform under all that pressure, not only being with his best friend _a man he respected and cared for_ but while being monitored as well? He’d never had sex with a man, longstanding fantasies about Sherlock not included! How was he supposed to figure it all out kneeling in a bunch of dirt with his kilt rucked up? That was the least romantic first time John could think of.

Just then a young woman with an elaborate hairstyle came in. Bowing shallowly she looked at Sherlock, “Lady Olivia, your lessons.” Sherlock had no appetite anyway, not after learning he was going to be deflowered in a field of all places. He was shocked to his core. He desired intimacy with John but not like that! This was simply the most awful news and now he had to leave for comportment lessons!

John reached out almost without thinking and grasped Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock’s gaze was caught by John’s and before his hands were released Sherlock heard John whisper, “We’ll figure this out love, we will.”

 _Love_ , that was the second time John had referred to him as such. Sherlock did not trust himself to answer. Instead he stood stiffly and took one last look at John’s worried face, “I will meet you after John.” John nodded silently and Sherlock turned on his heel and followed the young woman away. It was time to learn about being a lady.

 

 


	7. Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day started off so peculiarly so Sherlock isn't quite sure what to make of everything but he's right in the middle of it all, like it or not.

Being a _lady_ was disagreeable on all fronts. It was restrictive as well as uncomfortable and Sherlock had no idea how anyone female got anything done at any point in history. He was brought to a woman named Lydia, a stern and exacting taskmistress whose only tool was a thin wand of olive wood that she used to poke Sherlock in various places with when his posture slipped or worse, his tongue. “Master Ioannes might enjoy the sharpness of your words and gentle Bacchides would forgive you any slight _however_ ,” Lydia’s rigid spine straightened and the gray of her hair shone like burnished steel, “One minute in the company of traders and you would undo all the good you have accomplished. Is that what you want? To mouth off like a petulant child and risk the lives of _everyone?_ ”

The accusation in her voice stung worse than the olive staff and as much as Sherlock wanted to spit vituperative insults at her it would only serve to earn another lash from the olive branch. It had only been an hour and Sherlock had already earned nearly twenty faintly pink stripes along the backs of his legs for all manner of reasons from _walking like a hussy_ to being _ignorant_ on how to simply stand, how to kneel, how to rise, how to position himself next to John, _everything_. “Apologies.” he gritted out, trying desperately to keep the rancor from his voice.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed and the olive branch wavered menacingly until Sherlock recited all the appropriate greetings and welcomes given to guests including a list of gods to praise depending on who was visiting or coming to do business with them. Grudgingly Lydia lowered the tip of the branch and began the next topic, cooking. “No.” said Sherlock flatly but Lydia ignored him, “I do _not_ cook.”

The sting of the branch was going to leave bruises soon, he was certain of it, “You are the _mistress_ of this land, Master Ioannes has _bled_ to keep us safe, the very least you can do is nourish his body.” Sherlock hated how she was able to tweak that tiny guilty feeling inside him. _John_ was the nurturer in their marriage; _he_ was the doctor, the person who kept body and soul together when none else could succeed. For Sherlock to assume this responsibility was almost too much to ask for but he had no choice. The charade had been _his_ idea and the lives of so many around Sherlock depended on its continuation.

Lydia showed him to the kitchen where he got to enjoy an informative half hour of grinding grain while discussing herbs used to flavour the rich seafood stews that were commonly served at the evening meals. There were huge pots on narrow stoves; all bubbling with interesting smells that Sherlock was forced to become familiar with. It was hot and soon he was bathed in sweat and was beginning to smell less than fresh. Finally he snapped, “This is _ridiculous_. Hasn’t anyone ever heard of a water-mill? Is all this manual labour necessary? Raising the ceilings on the kitchen would reduce the amount of unnecessary heat build-up and fans would serve to exhaust the rest, the stoves are very efficient but the shapes of the pots are not, different sizes are required as well as a ceramic base on which to sit them so they are not directly on the coals. A cold-room is necessary, it would be easy enough to design a kitchen where you could keep things chilled until required, this is no better than living in a cave! Why is it so small if we feed so many? It needs to be at least three times this size. Why is there no cistern or something to keep extra water in? Must we fetch it one drop at a time? How much of the day does _that_ take? Plumbing must be possible or the baths would not work.” Sherlock was felt gritty and wilted, his hair felt twice its normal weight from the steam of the pots and he was fairly sure he had a bit of vegetable peel in his sandal. “I need to sit down.”

“You are a _very_ lazy woman and Ioannes should be ashamed to call you his wife.” stated Lydia firmly, “However since he _does_ honour you with that appellation and his honour is _our_ honour I will explain that a mill has been commissioned but millstones don’t just rain from the sky so until everything is ready we are going to continue to prepare food the way we’ve done for generations. You ate lunch did you not? _Who_ do you suppose ground the flour to make your bread or harvested the fruits upon which you feasted… _the gods_?” Lydia’s look was pure accusation of sloth and gluttony. “The people of this house work long hours to keep you. Do you begrudge them a simple loaf?”

 _Of course he didn’t._ Sherlock was scowling once again and put his back into the tasks he was assigned. There were three other cooks preparing vast amounts of simple hearty food to feed the servants who tended the house and the properties close by. The water problem had him sputtering with outrage once again as he was sent out with an urn to collect some from their nearby source, a short narrow waterfall that cascaded down a rocky face on the side of a small hill. The kitchen had naturally grown around it but it was still _Sherlock_ hefting back a large ceramic container full of the sloppy stuff and when he got back he was scolded by Lydia once more for causing his hair to unknot from the graceful swirl it had been styled into and for staining his chiton somehow. “Other women get through their day without looking like _slovens_ are you _so_ incapable?” Lydia had been working alongside all the rest and she looked as pristine as when Sherlock had arrived for his lessons.

Sherlock tidied himself up as best he could while Lydia escorted him away from the kitchens to a small courtyard where a plump young woman was waiting for them. She was wearing a long soft tunic and loose long pants that ended just below her calf. She had on elaborate anklets and bracelets to match the complicated looking necklace that graced her considerable cleavage, and her long raven hair was arranged in shining waves down her lightly covered back. Sherlock suddenly felt that all his posturing had been for naught. This young woman embodied everything _female_ that he lacked. “Aliyah is here to teach you to dance. In the evenings it is customary for the master to be entertained. Begin.”

Sherlock’s scowl could not have become fiercer but the young woman, Aliyah, unfolded from where she had been kneeling and with a graceful flourish of her heavily bejewelled fingers she clicked together two sets of zills which appeared to be tiny tambourines for her hands. While Sherlock watched the young woman began to dance. His scowl fell away as astonishment filled him. She was barely moving but the things she was doing with her body! It was incredible. Sherlock frowned and gingerly extended his arms.

Aliyah smiled and began to talk, her low voice slightly husky and tinted with an accent that spoke of a land filled with sands and spices, “When we dance we speak with our bodies the words our lips will never let loose.” Her hips began to shimmy, her torso almost entirely unmoving. Sherlock was entranced, examining her closely before adjusting how he positioned his feet and legs. Tentatively he moved his hip once and Aliyah smiled encouragingly “Use your body to sing, your flesh is your instrument, let it play.” It felt oddly familiar to the tall man, _he must have practiced before this_ , his transport was remembering, he could feel it in his muscles. Sherlock shook his hips, cocking his pelvis forward just a bit to get the shimmy just right. Aliyah smiled approvingly again, “You can arouse interest, desire, love, all without making a sound.” Her eyes locked onto his and Aliyah began to dance for real. She kept within the confines of the small carpet she was standing on but her entire body seemed able to undulate independently of each part, Sherlock couldn’t dance, he was simply staring now.

“What should I say?” he asked. Was he expected to dance like this? Aliyah was decadently sensuous, her body moving with liquid grace as she transitioned from one move to the next with apparent effortlessness. Sherlock could read her like she was screaming out to him, she was begging him to come closer, begging him to touch her, showing him where to please her best and suddenly Sherlock’s face blushed scarlet as he imagined himself dancing like that for John. A small smile from Aliyah showed Sherlock that what she was saying was all for show just to instruct him but that to another it would be a powerful and unsubtle message.

“You know what you want to say.” say Aliyah wisely, her eyes free of any teasing or mocking, “There is no shame in telling the truth. Love is beautiful and rare. There is no need to hide from it, no need to keep it locked away. If your mouth cannot tell then let your body. Speak the words you know are true and let him hear you.”

Sherlock’s hands trembled a bit but Aliyah simply began to play her zills in a steady beat, her feet making simple repetitive steps as her hips began to shake back and forth in another simple pattern. Her torso rippled and her breasts heaved as she arched her back and stepped to the side a bit. Twisting gracefully Aliyah managed to turn all the way around without seeming to move at all, her body still rippling and dancing in time with the beat, “I don’t know how.”

“You do.” she said calmly. “Close your eyes and feel the beat. Your body is a vessel filled with music. The beat will guide you and your flesh will follow… _dance_.” Sherlock closed his eyes. He felt nervous so he closed off one part of his mind palace after another, screening his senses to dim the input that clamoured at him and concentrated on the tinny beat of the zills. With something akin to shock Sherlock felt his feet slide into position as his arms extended easily and he danced.

He imagined John, beautiful steady wonderful John. Sherlock thought of all the times John had surprised him, of how much John meant to him, of what Sherlock would do for him given the chance. Well here was one now. He could give _this_ to John, a declaration of sorts. He could finally show John how he felt about him without risking a single wrong word. John would see or he would not see but at least Sherlock would have told him, in his own way. Relaxing into it Sherlock opened his eyes and watched Aliyah closely. He took in her musculature and posture, examined how she shifted her weight to prepare for each move, how she used all of herself to add to the rhythm her fingers tapped out. Confident now Sherlock began to mimic her directly and earned another soft smile. Aliyah’s movements became even more sinuous but Sherlock discovered his body was simply made to move this way, almost languorously seductive without being brazenly so. He liked how it felt and he liked the potential it had. Sherlock smiled back.

Aliyah demonstrated how to use his long hair effectively, the ropey quality of the dressing well suited for the style of dance he was attempting. Clearly this wasn’t his first session, his transport was far better at this than even Sherlock was privately prepared to admit he might have been capable of after only a single lesson. Once he relaxed he found it quite easy and actually enjoyable if somewhat tiring. It was just bad timing that caused Lydia to return just as Sherlock managed to accidentally catch his hair on his brooch, loosening a large hank of it messily.

“Even more slovenly than before.” she accused, brandishing her olive branch. Only the merriness of Aliyah’s smile stopped Sherlock from retorting in some unkind fashion but he was near snapping when Lydia ordered him away to the baths, “I give up for today. Perhaps tomorrow you will learn to disgrace Master Ioannes less.”

The bath attendants were surprised to see him so soon but it took only a moment for Sherlock to be disrobed and urged forward. There were no men so Sherlock was given the attentions of absolutely everyone and he felt he deserved it. Since he’d already been groomed once, the afternoon bath consisted mostly of washing Sherlock clean again and allowing him to soak briefly in the pools. He also received a fast rub down before he was given a fresh chiton and had his hair re-dressed. Zakiyah did it herself and when she finally laid the elegant rope she had created from his locks down against his spine she said, “Lydia was testing you. You _never_ cook in the kitchens; she just wanted to see what improvements you’d want made. You’ve argued over the kitchens a hundred times and told her that it’s worked for this long and that there’s no reason for change.” Zakiyah was amused, “She is very harsh but effective. You actually quite like her and it was you yourself who explained how to get the best response out of you.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. He’d designed this afternoon’s hell himself and Lydia had probably enjoyed every single lash he’d given her permission to strike. “There was no other way?”

“You’ve been remarkably stubborn about the kitchen. You thought it was elegant…from a distance.” Sherlock turned his face away from her and considered it. Yes. It was an elegant system that required little or no actual intervention to continue to function but the ease of it could be greatly increased with a few small changes. Why had he dug his heels in about it when he’d gone through all the trouble with the baths? He thought about it. He never considered food as something important; it was just something he had to deal with occasionally when his transport wouldn’t be denied any longer. Other people were most certainly _not_ that way, each meal would be precious.

Sherlock thought of everything they’d eaten and realized that without mechanical intervention each dish was a masterpiece of human ingenuity because the processes required to turn a field of wild grain into a delicate pancake that was seasoned with herbs that needed to be picked in their right time and prepared further, the drizzle of honey that had graced them had been cautiously harvested from hives, the very plates they’d been served on had been crafted by someone’s hands. Every single thing around him had been made and maintained without a scrape of the technology he didn’t even think about back in London. Suddenly Sherlock understood, “ _Perspective_. I was incapable of gaining the correct perspective, with me, first impressions are very strong. I see _now_ what I clearly did not see _then_.”

Zakiyah smiled, “Exactly. This technique has worked for you before, though none quite as roughly as Lydia. Adversity brings out the best in you Olivia, Ioannes is rightfully proud to be your husband.” _John was proud of being married to Sherlock?_ The shock must have been evident on his face because Zakiyah’s expression softened into almost motherly tenderness, she spoke gently and with care, “There is none that Ioannes cares for more than _you_ Olivia. Of himself he would give everything if it would give you ease, his sacrifices are made without hesitation if they benefit you.”

This comment made Sherlock fall deeply into thought. He believed her. There were no lengths John would not go through if he decided Sherlock really needed something. Even in London Sherlock noticed that John treated him preferentially. Sherlock received more attention than John’s other friends, his co-workers, his old girlfriends, and eventually, even his wife. Sherlock heart gave a weird twang as he recollected it all, it was like remembering a dream and suddenly Sherlock felt dizzy. Strange data was flooding into his mind palace, washing through the halls and corridors before spilling into the rooms contained therein. He saw a continuous river of images of John…John saving him over and over again, John making sure Sherlock was fed, that his clothes were clean, that their bills were paid, that Sherlock didn’t notice when his wounds pained him, when John ran interference between Sherlock and hurtful words from others and suddenly a _separate_ ocean of images overwhelmed him, “John!” he gasped as he slipped to the floor. Sherlock’s mind swirled and raged as he desperately sorted it all out, flinging information this way and that until all of it was finally put away, contained and controlled.

Zakiyah made gave a cry of alarm and rushed to him as did the other attendants. Sherlock looked at the two sets of twins. To the first set he said, “Io and Portis.” they nodded and helped him stand. Sherlock looked at the second set, “Kata and Dara.” they nodded and retreated. Zakiyah was looking up at him with an expression of great sympathy, “Some of my memories of this place have returned. I must speak to John.” She nodded and let him depart.

John was having an awful afternoon. Bacchides had led him to an armoury, a dry dusty place that stank of old leather and rust. There John was outfitted with a boiled leather chest-piece as well as various hard leather greaves and shields. They were very detailed, right down to nipples carved into the design but for some reason John’s sandals were taken away and he was told he was going to fight bare foot. That was nearly as bad as the helmet which sported a huge plume on top made of vibrantly coloured horse-hair. “I feel like an idiot.”

“That’s better than feeling like your life is bleeding out.” said the armourer calmly. His name was Zoa and he was thin, almost black of skin, and he had raised welts all over his face and arms and John suspected the marks were all over his body. He was one of the many people they had taken in from faraway lands, his skill in metalwork and leatherwork taught to him by a master now long gone. Zoa had been sold and was shipped to another land but he had lived his entire life inside a smithy somewhere cold and far to the north. He knew what he was doing. “Do not fear Master Ioannes, your skills have never deserted you…your first partner.”

Zoa’s long arm pointed toward a courtyard where a group of lithe young men appeared to be waiting. They were all perfectly formed and strong looking. John blanched. They looked barely out of their teens, hard-bodied and clearly filled with youthful vigour, “I’m supposed to practice with _them?_ I’m like their grandfather!”

Zoa nodded, “You are very well kept for someone of your advanced years but these men have won the right to spar with you. Do not disappoint.” John’s jaw tightened when Zoa mentioned his age. _He was forty-two for crying out loud, he was hardly geriatric!_

John cursed under his breath but Bacchides had told him sparring was part of his regular routine. He trained with and instructed the youths of the area, today just happened to be the boys but the girls had their turn as well, tomorrow was an exception because of _the ritual_. John had to force the thought out of his mind or he would run the risk of being beaten to a pulp while he just stood there in shock.

The first tall lad did not hesitate and without warning he simply attacked. Before John realized what he was doing his spear and shield were up, narrowly deflecting the boy’s charge. The fight was on. One at a time and occasionally in pairs the boys attacked John over and over again while Zoa stood on the side lines shouting encouragement indiscriminately to everyone.

It was surreal. John felt his body respond to each and every thrust and parry. He barely escaped the jabs of blunt tipped spears time and again, and more often than not his own attacks were weak and without effect. Suddenly two boys slammed into his shield, knocking him back several steps and John saw red. Shouting angrily John threw himself hard into the fight and now all the young boys were struggling to keep his spear off of them, to stop his shield from smashing them. John snarled to himself and forced himself to get a grip on his rage, controlling it. Deftly he disarmed one lad after another and when their shields and spears lay scattered on the ground before him they surrendered with smiles and bright eyes.

John’s heart was racing and the blood thundered through his veins. He could feel his vision waver and he dropped heavily to one knee. He heard Zoa’s voice calling for Bacchides but John was folded over now, deep in the grips of what felt like a panic attack. His body was flooded with hormones that screamed fight or flight but there was no reason to run. Conflicted, John was locked into place as his mind fought to dominate his flesh. His brain was splitting apart, he could smell everything around them, feel everything on him and suddenly it was like there were two John Watsons, one ancient warrior, one modern soldier. They blurred together and John gasped, dragging in a huge draught of air. Panting and almost shaking he shook his head as Bacchides and Zoa helped him stand.

“John! John!” Sherlock skidded into the room, his chiton in mild disarray from running which he had clearly been doing, “John I’m beginning to remember.”

John looked at Sherlock and his jaw was tense. “So am I.”

Sherlock blanched and as one both of them looked at Bacchides who was backing away slowly, “We were going to talk about this Ioannes. It’s not my fault your fever came back before we could!”

John stalked forward even as Zoa melted back and Sherlock turned to glare at the tall man in front of him, “You tried to end our marriage! You tried to seduce me! Why Bacchides?”

Bacchides actually hid himself behind a tall graceful pillar, peeking his face around the stone as they advanced angrily upon him, “I wasn’t _actually_ trying to seduce you. By the gods that’s not what I wanted!”

“What _did_ you want then because you’ll _never_ have him!” shouted John. He was filled with fury at the memory of stumbling across Bacchides holding Sherlock in his arms, their mouths nearly touching. John had been horrified and sickened at the sight.

Sherlock wished he’d grabbed up a weapon on his way past the rack because he was going to kill Bacchides. He remembered meeting for lunch, John was on his way. The huge man had waited until John was nearly back before suddenly scooping Sherlock’s body close and moving in as if to kiss him. It had taken only an instant before John had arrived leaving no time Sherlock could explain that nothing had happened, that everything he’d seen was not as it appeared before John had stormed off in a broken-hearted rage. They’d gone to sleep angry and woken up without their memories. This was going to be a very interesting explanation. Sherlock turned to John, “I would _never_ kiss someone else.” he stated heatedly, “Not _ever_ John!”

“I know it.” said John stoutly, “I’m sorry for ever doubting you.” As one they turned their angry gaze on the tall man behind the pillar even as their hands linked together, “Start explaining.”


	8. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have both managed to regain a few of their memories of their time in the past but what they've recalled has shocked them.

John was _furious_. Today had been shocking in the extreme already, everything that had happened had pushed him to the utter limit and only the trickling memories that were crowding to the foreground stayed his hand. He wanted to _hurt_ Bacchides for doing what he did but his mind brought up memory after memory of the huge man doing things like helping the children, volunteering to assist the farmers, donating anything extra he had to anyone who needed it. He was a man who spent his time going out of his way to help people so _why_ , why had he acted as he had? John’s great comfort was Sherlock standing staunchly by his side, the outrage on his face unfeigned. John was heartened by it. He was almost ill from his reaction to the sight of Sherlock with someone else and the strength of his response surprised him. “We’re waiting.” he snapped.

Bacchides was still peeking around the pillar, his expression rueful, “I didn’t actually want to _kiss_ Olivia, I just wanted to _goad_ Ioannes. It’s been two years! _Two years_ and neither of you have made a single move toward the other! The spring festival is _tomorrow_! The people depend upon these rituals, how can we explain to them that not only are their master and mistress not who they seem but that they know nothing of physical love between one another? If you cannot fulfill the requirements the people will despair! _This is not something you can fake!_ ”

Sherlock flushed lightly. They hadn’t done _anything_ with one another in two entire years? They slept together every night, lived and fought for one another, were married in the eyes of the gods and people, so what had stopped them? It was nearly dinner as well, tomorrow was fast approaching and now he was nervous all over again. Hopelessly Sherlock wished for some kind of emergency, a mystery to be solved, something that would distract them from the task at hand because it was too monumental. This wasn’t a puzzled to be solved, at least, not one that he had the tools for. This was about feelings and he was hopelessly inept at dealing with feelings. All Sherlock knew was that he couldn’t just _be_ with John casually! He’d never given himself to anyone, not ever. John was special, if anyone was going to have Sherlock it would be John and _only_ John but John did not feel that way about Sherlock _that_ was clear. If in two years the soldier had denied himself his husbandly rights then Sherlock knew for sure that John simply could not respond physically to sexual advances from a man. It made his heart ache dully to realize it anew but the evidence overwhelmingly supported his analysis. John spoke and he sounded surprised, “How would we fake it?”

Bacchides looked frustrated, “I don’t _know!_ Olivia is clever, she could think of a way if you wanted her to. Oh gods I can’t believe I have to explain this to you, I’m not your father.” The big man sagged against the pillar, the very picture of parental distress. With a groan he pushed himself upright. Not looking at either of them Bacchides spoke quickly, “The ritual demands a sexual act that ends with the planting of seed. It is _symbolic_. It’s not actually necessary to get Olivia pregnant though _that_ would be a miracle beyond denying. Not all mistresses get pregnant after spring rites, sometimes they’re already pregnant, or it’s just not the right time. The _point_ is that the two of you have to actually make _love_ as an offering to the gods and it has to be done properly otherwise we’d get _any_ two people to do it but _you_ _represent the land and the people to the gods_ that’s the thing.”

John felt a bit weak, “You were trying to make us jealous.” It had worked too. John still felt the almost feral need to smite Bacchides for his trespass.

Bacchides nodded and looked miserable, “All I accomplished was creating a rift between the two of you that did not exist before that. I don’t know what I was thinking, the idea popped into my head and I went with the impulse. _I’m so sorry._ ” He looked despondent, staring at his sandaled feet remorsefully.

“You couldn’t have just taken one of us aside and explained?” demanded Sherlock. He disliked being manipulated, it smacked of Mycroft’s endless meddling and it put Sherlock instantly on edge. John’s thumb began to sweep soothingly against Sherlock’s fingers and he calmed a tiny bit.

“ _I tried_ , honest to gods I tried. It was like speaking to statues, neither of you would hear me! No one understands what’s holding you back but no one outside this house suspects anything is even remotely amiss. _This_ is not what I wanted at all, I was hoping…” Bacchides stood there and flushed brilliantly before looking away.

“You were hoping we’d just fall into bed together for some make-up sex.” said John coldly and Bacchides hung his head with shame as he nodded. John stared hard at the big man before asking him, “Do you know how I feel about infidelity?”

Sherlock stiffened. He did. He knew very well what John thought about infidelity. The soldier loathed it. He despised it. Perhaps there’d been a time in John Watson’s life when he would have passively tolerated the knowledge of someone cheating on a relationship as long as it wasn’t one with him but after the bitter betrayal of his momentary marriage to one Mary Morstan John’s views on infidelity had grown painfully narrow. If Sherlock was _his_ spouse and was apparently cheating on him John would not deal well with that. Anxious once more Sherlock turned and looked down at his husband, his fingers lacing tightly to the soldier’s in case John tried to pull away, “John I swear, I would never even consider…not with _any_ one not in _any_ time…I would never do _that_ to you.”

There was pain in John’s eyes but it melted away as he looked up and met Sherlock’s worried gaze, “I know Sherlock. I _do_ believe you, I do.” John felt a weird kind of relief flow through him caused both by Sherlock’s fervent reassurances but strangely also because he had not missed two years of private moments with Sherlock. John knew Sherlock well, and the man simply would not inflict that sort of trauma on him knowingly. Sherlock was almost completely unresponsive to other people in a physical way. More than one beautiful man or woman had tried to engage his interest but never once had John seen more than Irene Adler succeed, and even she didn’t get very far, dominatrix though she was. “What now?”

Bacchides sighed forlornly, “It is well within your rights to banish me from your lands. I have trespassed in a horrifically grievous fashion.” the big man put his back to the pillar and allowed himself to slump downward until he was sitting on the flagstone floor, “I will not argue your decision.”

John stared at Bacchides’ shoulder, the only part of the man he could see anymore. His mind was awash with shock and he was still so angry, “I need to think.” he said and turned away. He couldn’t make a rational decision right now, not over Sherlock. Bacchides had hit John at his most sensitive spot and the doctor needed some time to let his anger dissipate. Sherlock refused to let go so John just towed him away and left Bacchides where he was. They returned to their bedroom and John sat on a small chair with his head in his hands while Sherlock perched on the bed silently. _For the love of the gods he wasn’t sure what to do!_ _He couldn’t force Sherlock into a physical relationship for the sake of people he didn’t even know!_

Sherlock sat on the bed and watched John agonize. He looked tired but beautiful and Sherlock’s heart ached anew that he would never have John’s love the way he so desperately wanted. Everything from the sweat matted hair on his forehead down to the slightly ripe smell of drying sweat and perspiration only proved that John was mouth-wateringly masculine. He knew the small man would want to do right by the people but if that meant taking a man as a lover then clearly that was a step too far for his best friend. Sherlock felt sick inside and for a searing moment wished he really _were_ a woman so he could make this easier for his doctor, “John?”

John’s hands didn’t move from their position as face shields, “Yes Sherlock?” The man smelled so good. Sherlock had no idea how alluring he looked in that robe thing he was wearing. It complimented the pale tan of his skin and the luster of his long hair. John wanted to wind those long tresses around his wrist, pull that beautiful head back to expose Sherlock’s neck, twist his fingers into those curls and… _oh gods was he developing a hair kink?_ Sherlock’s beauty just made the problem for John that much more difficult because he would give nearly anything to be able to claim Sherlock as he desired.

Sherlock swallowed but this had to be done. People were depending on it and if he knew anything it was that preparation was the key to success, “We will be in front of an audience tomorrow John. I should like…” Sherlock had to steady himself and he started again, “Since we will need to display a certain amount of ourselves tomorrow I would ask if we could…” _gods how did he say this? How could he ask this of John? It would ruin everything!_ “I would like to…” he couldn’t say it and he stopped talking. John already looked unhappily cautious.

“What would you like Sherlock?” John was dreading the answer. Sherlock probably knew a thousand herbs to stimulate his libido or to cloud his mind. He was going to ask John for permission to drug himself senseless before he was raped in front of the villagers. John’s stomach knotted and his whole body tensed. He wouldn’t be able to deny Sherlock such a request, _oh gods how would he be able to live with himself after this?_

Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He needed to just spit it out plainly. Like Aliyah said, there was no shame in love. Knowing that didn’t help, Sherlock was already a nervous wreck. Forcing himself to raise his head and look at his best friend Sherlock said, “Since we will be on display tomorrow for people who most certainly know what they are listening to I think it would be best if we…practiced…first.” _Oh for the love of the gods could that have sounded worse_? Now John probably thought Sherlock wasn’t emotionally invested in this! He probably thought Sherlock would just be collecting data or approaching this like a disagreeable task. Sherlock cursed his social ineptitude.

John was absolutely stunned. Sherlock wanted to practice? Sex? “What do you mean?” _By the gods he sounded idiotic_. John nearly winced. Why had he asked Sherlock that? It had to be difficult enough to admit that there was no way out of this but to have John force him to explain himself was just cruel. Why hadn’t he just kept silent? Poor Sherlock, this was the last thing in the world he would want and John was going to go to whatever hell existed in this time for betraying his best friend like this.

Sherlock had to swallow again. John looked horrified and now he looked like he was in actual pain. Was the idea so revolting to him? Sherlock’s heart sank a little lower but he forced himself to continue. “I’ve never been with anyone.” _Oh gods this was humiliating!_ He couldn’t look at John, “I don’t want everything to happen for the first time in the dirt.” Sherlock was almost whispering by the end and his face was going to burn off. He’d just confirmed that he was a virgin and that he wanted to have sex with John who wasn’t gay.

John felt worse than ever. Not only was Sherlock being forced to lose his virginity by having the sex that he didn’t even want but he would also be forced to also put on something of a show for people that he would have to see nearly every single day ever after! _How could he do this to Sherlock?_ John swallowed hard. If Sherlock was going to go against his nature to be brave and selfless by offering himself like this then the very least John could do was make it as enjoyable for him as possible, “That’s probably a really good idea Sherlock.” said John raggedly, “Maybe we can try after dinner…I…everything has been a bit much.”

Sherlock sagged back in relief. He hadn’t been rejected outright. Of course John would need some time to take it all in and he wouldn’t just capriciously dismiss the needs of the people, even if it meant doing something he found personally distasteful. John wasn’t flighty, he was solid and dependable. He would need to think things through and let it all settle before he could relax, “Let’s take you through the baths again before dinner, you need a wash.”

John flushed, Sherlock clearly wanted to delay as long as possible and he was acutely reminded of how unpleasant this was going to be for the younger man. John didn’t want to come across as threatening or demanding either, and then he groaned internally. He was still wearing his practice gear, he must _reek_. “Sorry, I’ll go get cleaned up.” John was acutely aware of how barbaric he must seem compared to Sherlock who looked completely at ease in his clothing. John was feeling the chafing beneath his arms where the straps kept his chest piece in place.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Sherlock didn’t need another bath but he was hesitant about leaving John to go through them alone. He was taking in the form fitting details of John’s armour and the unfairly delightful peeks he was getting from the short leather skirt that had temporarily replaced John’s kilt.

John hesitated, Sherlock was clean and obviously fresh but John was reluctant to leave Sherlock untended, not when Bacchides was still roaming about, “That would actually be really nice.”

Both of them smiled at one another, relieved. Sherlock got off the bed and came to stand beside John. His jaw clenched when he spied the reddened mark beneath John’s armour, “Unacceptable.” Sherlock was unbuckling the straps before he could stop himself but John didn’t say a word of protest as Sherlock divested him of all everything except the short leather skirt around John’s hips, the last bit of modesty he had left. Sherlock dropped all the pieces into a careless pile for only a second before grimacing and picking them up. He stacked them neatly outside their room, surely someone would collect them. If not the he would take them back after dinner but John needed looking after. “Come along John.”

Sherlock walked John briskly to the baths where he had his soldier washed down carefully, standing on the sides as he directed the children to be careful of John’s sore spots and accepting a pot of unguent from a faintly smiling Zakiyah that he smoothed onto the marks himself. “Deliver some of this to our rooms,” commanded Sherlock, “He’ll need his back done after we eat but I’ve had an excessive amount of baths today.”

“Thanks love.” said John. The soldier was almost dozing on the stone couch, his arms hanging loosely down the sides as Sherlock carefully checked him over for other wounds. They were so far in the past he couldn’t risk even a single injury on John. Nothing could be allowed to worsen and possibly fester. It’s not like Sherlock could run down to the shops for some antibiotics if a small cut or abrasion went septic due to inattention. That’s not the kind of wife Sherlock Holmes was! He knew how to see and observe and he planned on watching John like he was under a massive microscope.

Sherlock didn’t even flinch as John called him love for the third time though his heart began to pound and his fingers threatened to tremble. Was it just because they were alone together in a strange place that he felt so close to John? Sherlock tried not to let himself clutch at John though he wanted to. _Irrational!_ He had to pull himself together, “Don’t fall asleep John. I literally slaved over a hot stove to make dinner and you _will_ eat it.”

John giggled and Sherlock loved that. How did a man as effortlessly dangerous as John Watson _giggle_ while allowing his back to be petted like he was a great cat? Maybe he was, maybe John was a great wild cat, a tawny lazy cuddly kitty until it came time to unsheathe those razor sharp claws and utterly destroy. Sherlock liked that idea and unintentionally the deliberate motions of his hands became slow and almost sensual. John made a deeply contented sigh and then said with regret, “I don’t really want to move but I wouldn’t want to miss a home cooked meal made by my loving wife.”

“I would only cook on _your_ behalf John, you know it. No one else could possibly motivate me to do manual labour.” Sherlock was intrigued when John’s face turned a slight shade of pink. The soldier looked inordinately pleased with his comment.

“There were other cooks there.” teased John who enjoyed the annoyed look on Sherlock’s face. He rarely go the opportunity to needle his best friend about something he wasn’t already fantastic at.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes there were but we made everything together. I did my best; I can only hope you don’t die of indigestion.” He hadn’t recognized most of the fish and other sea creatures that had gone into the stew, nor did he recognize some of the herbs they used in their unprocessed forms. The recipes had been elegantly simple, timing was everything and Sherlock had worked beside Lydia and the rest to make sure that everything began to cook when it was supposed to. Suddenly Sherlock realized they hadn’t baked any bread. That evil woman! She’d made him grind flour for nothing!

“I’m sure it will be delicious.” said John immediately. He was so touched. Sherlock could have walked away from everything he’d had to do today if he wanted. John wasn’t sure what his lessons had been made up of but from his experiences in Afghanistan he knew very well that rural kitchens were hot and uncomfortable.  Sherlock would have hated it but he’d stayed and he’d even cleaned himself up before finding John so John couldn’t see if he’d been run ragged or not. Being stuck in the past was nothing but misery for Sherlock so far and it was going to get so much worse. Even if dinner turned out to be nothing but charred chunks of unrecognizable lumps John would gnaw down every crumb because he knew Sherlock really was doing all of this just for him. He wouldn’t want to disappoint him, not even for an instant.

Their attendants returned and John found that his kilt had been carefully cleaned and returned to him so gratefully he wrapped it on. Sherlock checked himself over quickly but Zakiyah gave him a discrete nod so he sighed with relief. Lydia would get no chance to scold him. Graciously Sherlock allowed himself to be led back to the dining area, enjoying the relaxed and happy expression on John’s face but a question still needed answering, “What are we to do with Bacchides?”

John huffed out an irritated breath, “The fool. I should…” John cut himself off but Sherlock could see his jaw had tensed momentarily before noticing that John’s arm had magically appeared around his waist, the soldier was holding Sherlock close to him while they walked. John shrugged his shoulders, “He was worried about the people and he did something impulsive. As much as I’d like to…” John cut himself off again and stopped walking, “He’s a good person Sherlock, not brilliant in some areas, that’s clear enough, but he’s still a good person who did something for an unselfish reason even if his idea was _bloody_ stupid _he’s so getting_ …” John cut himself off yet again and took one more breath, “I’d like to forgive him. He meant well, nothing actually happened, and he won’t be doing _that_ again. He’s good to the people around here, and he understands that he made a mistake. He was even willing to be tossed out on his arse if we wanted. That’s my vote anyway, what about you?”

John looked up to Sherlock and waited, “You want my decision too?” John was the master in a very patriarchal society, did Sherlock even have a say?

John looked surprised and then he frowned, “Of course you… _why wouldn’t you have a say?_ I don’t know what they’ve been filling your head with today Sherlock Holmes but whatever it was you can just delete it now! We’re not _cavemen_! I’m not going to drag you off by your hair and make you do what I tell you…” John’s thoughts flittered toward the image of tangling his fingers in those shining… _no…off topic_ , “We are still rational people Sherlock, we both have a say in how we live our lives no matter where we’re stuck. You’re _pretending_ to be my wife, that doesn’t make you less _Sherlock_.”

That struck a bittersweet chord inside Sherlock. John was reminding him that their marriage was a mere device, it wasn’t real but also the idea of being manhandled by John, submitting to his untethered needs…Sherlock had to stiffen his lust weakened knees even as his heart broke a tiny bit more, “Very well. I’m willing to forgive him _for now_ but I still don’t trust him entirely and don’t think I’m going to forget for an instant that he tried to get familiar with me.”

“Oh I won’t forget.” said John darkly. Sherlock shivered because John nearly growled the words out and he looked…possessive. _What?_ “I’m sorry but I can’t trust him either, no matter how good he is else.” John couldn’t even let Sherlock go, not right then. Yes he knew their marriage was a sham and that Bacchides hadn’t actually kissed Sherlock even if he’d really been trying to but still, it took everything in John to keep himself from pushing Sherlock up against one of these hard stone walls,twitching aside those easily removed robes and just _…_ John had to stop his mind from wandering. It was doing him no good and there was no way to hide an erection in a kilt. He really missed his sporran. Would it have come with them if he’d worn it that night? “No matter his reasons Bacchides was still willing to do it, he did it. I’m going to have to let some time pass before I can decide how I really feel about that.”

Sherlock was so relieved that John still felt able to remain close to him that he leaned into his best friend and took comfort. Even if John didn’t love him the same way they were _still_ best friends and odd situation or not John would never abandon him or leave him vulnerable. John would take care of him the way he always did. Sherlock made up his mind. Lydia said it herself, the master often expected to be entertained during dinner. He’d dance for John and show his soldier and Bacchides both exactly who Sherlock belong to. Perhaps if Sherlock did it well enough John would be able to forget, or at least ignore, the fact that Sherlock was a man, maybe it would help him overcome his obvious aversion to homosexual relations. It was the best Sherlock could hope for. “Very well John, we’ll forgive him but we’ll stay wary.”

John nodded and they resumed their brief journey. Bacchides was hovering close by and he looked nervous. There was a small travel bag by the entrance and he was wearing his sandals, clearly ready to depart. “I’m so sorry, I cannot apologize enough. I …”

“Are you trying to be dramatic, who is the woman here exactly?” Sherlock looked at the sack by the door and frowned slightly, “If we throw you out who is supposed to tend the bees? _Me?_ Don’t I do enough around here? Was _that_ your design, to shirk your duties to flitter around without a care for what you’ve done, and to be a further burden?”

John had to keep himself from smiling. Trust Sherlock to be able to squeeze just a little more suffering out of a situation without even raising his voice. Bacchides looked even more stricken, ready to fall to his knees to apologise further. John cut in, “You will remain and you will tend to the tasks you have normally would but if _ever_ you try this again I will _not_ be lenient.” John would destroy Bacchides. He would destroy anyone who tried to use Sherlock, who attempted to take him in any way. Rage filled him and it was a struggle to tamp it down once again.

Bacchides blanched as he witnessed the fight on John’s face and he bowed low. “I will never give you cause to doubt me again. I am indebted to you once more.” Bacchides turned to Sherlock and looked down at the floor in front of him, unwilling to even gaze upon him lest he give offense, “I have strained the faith you had both in me and worse, I nearly damaged the faith John had in you. I can’t even imagine how the gods plan to pay me back for my impulse.”

Sherlock shook his head, he’d never been a religious man, choosing to believe instead in a god made of provable fact, but that was his choice and he had never been interested in chiding people about their faith. Just because he couldn’t prove there was a god didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “However they choose to deal with you is not my concern. My concern is John and the meal he should be eating. Since we can’t trust you alone you will dine with us where we can both keep an eye on you. Come along John.” John took Sherlock’s arm and led him to the table while Bacchides trailed miserably behind them, “Both of you are eating two of everything.” It was time for dinner.

Dionysus - Louvre - my visual inspiration for Olivia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop is dying a slow and graceless death so I may be a tiny bit delayed with the next chapter. Of course this is when inspiration is at it's peak so I've been forced to use a pen and paper and now my hand hurts. Hopefully we won't be waiting more than a week and once the shock of cursive script wears off I might be able to at least get the next installment assembled while I wail in despair and fruitlessly try to get online.


	9. Appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bacchides has offered an explanation that Sherlock and John have grudgingly accepted. Things aren't entirely mended but at least all is not lost.

The second they were in their places the servants came in with their meal. The sun was close to setting so the table included three short squat pottery lamps, their wicks burning merrily. The entire room was lit with clusters of them and the light flickered as people moved. While Sherlock looked on he noticed how all the men and women seemed to move in harmony with one another, clearly well practiced in the art of serving as portions of their meal were set down and their kylix filled. Glancing over the offerings Sherlock recognized all the dishes he’d help make that afternoon and his lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile when Lydia herself served a large tray of ornately twisted and baked rolls, “From the hands of the Lady herself.” she proclaimed grandly, presenting the tray to John.

“What? You baked bread today Sherlock?” John took a roll, then clearly recalled what Sherlock had told him and reached for a second one. He was laying a bit closer to Sherlock than was strictly necessary but by the gods he was lovely and he smelled so good. The taller man was making John’s mouth water and he covered his other hunger with food.

“No.” said Sherlock as he eyed Lydia whose eyes were sparkling with mirth, “I ground the grain _by hand_.” It wouldn’t surprise Sherlock if he later learned that there was some easier way to grind the grain. Lydia had made him to everything the hard way. He probably hadn’t even needed to pack water!

“The lady did not have time to participate in the afternoon baking, she had other lessons.” said Lydia apologetically. “She can bake tomorrow morning if you wish Master Ioannes, the ovens are ready before dawn.”

“No that will be quite alright. I can enjoy baking another day.” said Sherlock and Lydia was clearly stifling a giggle at the faint accusation on his face. Sherlock was remembering Lydia as well, she really was a stern taskmistress but she was also full of little jokes and amusing stories, no one knew the local flora like she did, and she cared for the little kitchen staff she’d assembled like they were her own children. The ruse with training had been worked out over time and she’d finally taken advantage of Olivia’s occasional fever to get her points across. Sherlock had to look away for a second before he laughed at himself but he offered a grudging, “Well played, Lydia.”

“Eat your dinner.” was all she said before shooing the servants away and leaving them to dine in relative peace. The dim lighting made everything soothing and slowly Sherlock relaxed.

A small group of men and women were assembled in the corner; all bearing strangely shaped stringed instruments and oddly shaped hand-drums. Bacchides was in front of them and he still looked mournful, “Eat.” said Sherlock who reached out to nudge a particular platter toward John. He’d nearly lost a finger making that one; John was going to consume every bit of it.

“Yes Lady.” said Bacchides politely and began. The tall man was still downcast but still quickly went through the bowls and platters to select portions to consume so Sherlock ignored him.

Sherlock handed John a strange utensil. On one end it seemed like a perfectly straightforward spoon but on the other end was an elaborate double prong complete with hooks. A quick look at Bacchides showed its usefulness in spearing various stewed items to bring to his mouth so gingerly John gave it a try. When John managed to secure his first mouthful on it the musicians began to play. The rhythms and harmonies were strange to his ears but he quickly grew fond of it. The skill required to maintain the simple yet complex threads of sound together were impressive. The performers kept their songs soft, background music for the diners. After dipping a bit of bread into his bowl John brought the mouthful to his lips and ate. An explosion of flavour delighted him, “Oh my gods this is incredible! What am I eating?” John took the whole large bowl and set it right in front of himself before grabbing a third roll, “I’ve never had a stew like this, this is amazing.”

John was in food heaven. He didn’t know what he’d expected but after the simple breakfast and lunch he hadn’t been prepared for the almost decadent offerings in front of him. Each bowl and platter was filled with a gorgeous array of _things_. He didn’t even know what most of it was but nothing offended his sense of smell and he was salivating. The stew Sherlock had offered him first was sublime, the broth faintly spicy and left a small burning sensation in the back of his throat that was soothed by the root vegetables that had softened as they cooked. The fish was apparently boneless for he came across not one, not even when he was chasing the last bit of broth around with his fourth roll.

Sherlock looked pleased when John pushed away his empty bowl. John smiled to himself when Sherlock waved a servant in from outside to whisk away the empty container before he pushed a platter of cut vegetables that came with tiny bowls of richly flavoured sauces in front of John and put a small assortment together. John took it from Sherlock’s hand and ate it, making an unreasonable amount of sounds because it tasted so good. A large selection of fresh fruits came next as well as an assortment of cheeses, Sherlock always offering John a bit of this or that first before eating.

Sherlock found he was rather enjoying watching John eat and made a point of matching complimentary flavours and textures together. Lydia had forced him to taste everything in progress so the finished product of cooked foods was highly agreeable compared to the raw versions though Sherlock _did_ appreciate solid information and this afternoon had been filled with facts. The hours with Lydia had been educational to say the least. John seemed to be enjoying himself and the heat between their bodies was strangely soothing so Sherlock moved ever so slightly closer each time he gave John a new bit of food.

Aliyah came in still dressed as she had been during their lesson. Sherlock nodded to her and watched as she raised her hands. John was looking at her and made an approving sound when she snapped her zills and joined the music flawlessly, “Oh she’s good!” said John, glancing over to Sherlock, “I saw some girls dance when I was in the army, proper dancers they were, just incredible. One of the dads was a doctor at the local hospital; he invited us to some of their performances. She could be one of their daughters.” John watched Aliyah dance for a minute more, “I can’t even imagine how she’d burn up London if she could go there.”

“Aliyah is very talented.” reported Bacchides who was watching the young woman intently, “She’s trained since she was old enough to walk. She’s been here for a year now; you bought her from a trader because you disliked him.” John vaguely recalled it now. He had impressions of a frightened and bruised young dancer and the greedy face of a bearded man who was more than willing to accept a handful of coins in exchange.

The meal was essentially done. If there was ever an opportune moment then this was it. Sherlock slid off his couch and away from John with deliberate grace and stepped over to Aliyah. She had a faint smile on her face which Sherlock returned. She was doing the same dance they’d practiced earlier and now that so much of the blurring in his mind had disappeared Sherlock remembered only too well all the secret lessons he’d been taking in order to prepare for exactly this. _Months_ of planning had gone into seducing John, “Sherlock?” John looked confused.

Aliyah’s hand extended, her arm writhing as her fingers remained fixed in space. Sherlock reached over and plucked the zills from her fingers and slipped one set onto his right hand. He was doing this for John; _this_ was how he was going to let John know how he felt. Aliyah had shown him the way, shown him how to look inside himself and use what he knew to express himself _a vessel filled with music_. Raising his arms with Aliyah both of them rang their zills at the same moment and began to move.

John was _astounded_. He’d been pleasantly surprised with the girl’s performance and had expected to spend part of the evening relishing the musical performance, he quite enjoyed watching dancers, their skills were worth admiring. Nothing could have prepared him for watching _Sherlock_ slink up to the curvaceous young woman, take those metal thingies and _oh my gods what was Sherlock doing with his hips?_

Sherlock was _dancing_ and John’s heart began to thump. Narrow hips were shimmying and flicking from side to side, his feet peeking almost shyly from the bottom of his long robe which also moving around in the most disconcerting way. It was _doing things_ to John and he realized his mouth was dry. Did Sherlock know how good he looked with that arm band on? It really accented the long lean lines of his limbs, and oh my gods his neck! _What was Sherlock doing with his hair?_

Sherlock and Aliyah moved together, turning slowly on the balls of their feet so that their movements were so fluid Sherlock knew it would appear as if they were hardly moving at all. He enjoyed the shocked gasp he heard from John when both of them flicked their heads, causing their hair to toss lightly to one side, exposing their necks just a bit. Sherlock did not expect Aliyah’s clever hands to dart over and tug away the small binding at the bottom of his coil which quickly lost cohesion and fell apart into a wide spray of ringlets. John sounded like he was choking but Aliyah’s expression told Sherlock this was a good reaction and not a bad one so he was heartened.

John was going to have a stroke. How did Sherlock move like that? His arse! _It was so perfect_ the fabric hid nothing of its glory. This was so unfair! John was fairly certain he was becoming aroused, how would he hide that? He glanced over at Bacchides and the man seemed dazed. John frowned until he saw that Bacchides couldn’t tear his eyes off of Aliyah who seemed oblivious to his presence. John watched as his head jerked a bit when her hip flicked in Bacchides’ direction and the man seemed completely incapable of blinking. John was relieved. At least he wasn’t looking at Sherlock but he’d better not make unwelcome advances if the young lady wasn’t interested!

 _She might be interested_. John’s mind was filling with image after image of things he had witnessed, of shy glances exchanged, of polite words, and bashful smiles. As one person the girl, _her name is Aliyah_ his mind said, and Sherlock split away from each other and came to dance directly in the view of each man. Her eyes seemed to lock onto Bacchides’ and the huge man couldn’t have looked more stunned than if you’d hit him between the eyes with a mallet. Whatever she was doing to Bacchides would forever remain a mystery to him because now _Sherlock’s_ eyes were burning into John’s while the tall man’s body undulated and twisted. The barely supressed lust John felt for his best friend began to burn hotter and threatened to break loose. Sherlock was _magnificent_ , how had he learned to do that?

Sherlock let his body speak as Aliyah had patiently taught him. With each move Sherlock displayed his desire for the soldier, his willingness to be in John’s arms, his overwhelming love, and affection for the small man. Sherlock was recalling the months and years they had existed here, the longing for John that never subsided, was never sated. It tormented Sherlock and tonight would be the end of it. John would _see_ him, John would _hear_ him, John would _finally_ understand. The drums seemed to throb in the background as Sherlock took in the odd harmonies and rhythms of the harp-like instruments being plucked in the corner. Silently he begged John to _see_ , to _reach out_ , to _come closer_ , to _please touch_.

The dancing was affecting John strongly. Everything about Sherlock seemed to beckon the soldier, Sherlock face and Sherlock’s body all seemed to be inviting him forward, asking him to look, to even _touch!_  John couldn’t believe the impulses the dance was evoking in him. Each time Sherlock’s torso rippled or his shoulders dropped, or his hair swayed John felt another piece of his self-control shatter.

Sherlock felt triumphant. John was clearly affected by _him_ and _not_ by Aliyah. John’s gaze had flickered toward her several times but for nearly the entire time the soldier’s hot gaze had burned only for Sherlock. There was clear arousal in his face, in the set of his shoulders. John’s fingers were digging into the cushion beneath his chest. When the music shifted Sherlock spun on his foot in perfect time with Aliyah, their hair fanning out behind them as they flicked perfectly. Two more beats and they spun again, stepping back and shimmying their hips just so before stepping forward to spin and fan their hair one more time. John was visibly flushed now, his iris were shrinking as his arousal grew more evident.

Sherlock stepped away but kept his eyes on John.   _It was working! John was reacting even better than he’d hoped!_ The music was still playing in the background but it was like everyone else had melted away and there was just the two of them. Sherlock kept dancing backward and when he got to the exit John rose from the couch. Sherlock nearly lost the beat when he took in John’s obvious arousal. _He’d done that! He’d made John Watson desire him!_

John’s head was swimming as memories rushed in, how long had he ached for Sherlock, how long had he held himself back? What he’d just witnessed was _incredible_. There was no way even Sherlock Holmes could be faking the messages that were being translated via John’s cock before being sent on up to John’s other head. John’s brain was on fire with lust, he wanted to be so much closer to Sherlock _but he kept moving away_. John swallowed hard and tried to clear his head. _His body kept doing that thing with the shaking and the twisting and all of his bits seemed to be moving independently of each other but together._ John didn’t understand he just knew he wanted to go to Sherlock _now right now right now!_ Sherlock was leaving! Sherlock was leaving the room! No, that wasn’t right. John needed to be near him, needed to be close to Sherlock to watch him, to maybe touch him.

John wasn’t thinking any more. He rose from the couch heedless of what signs his body might be displaying due to his current condition. There was a secret smile on Sherlock’s face and John could not resist, not after all this time. Sherlock had completely destroyed every last shred of the self-control John had exerted to prevent himself from taking what wasn’t his. Helpless he followed Sherlock who turned on his sandaled feet and disappeared down the corridor toward their bedroom. John gave chase.

Sherlock was thrilled. John was clearly enticed, he’d succeeded! Oh gods the things he wanted to _do_ to John Watson! Sherlock had an entire unexplored wing of his mind palace simply _filled_ with sexual acts and information. They had to get someplace private right now! Sherlock turned and nearly ran toward their bedroom, John hard on his heels. As soon as they were in Sherlock pushed the smaller man up against the door, growling out his name, “ _John_.”

The lustful haze in John’s mind burned away and became a blaze of pure desire as conflicting signals tweaked and teased him. In the flickering lamplight Sherlock _appeared_ so feminine but his body, his voice, his obvious need to dominate, that threw John’s senses into a deliciously confusing mix. John had wanted to push Sherlock up against the wall but instead it was him who was being crowded up against their wooden door, almost lifted into Sherlock’s arms as their mouths crashed together into a torrid kiss.

Sherlock knew he was supposed to be yielding to John but for once he wasn’t thinking, he was just feeling, and then _doing_. He wanted to _feel_ John and to keep feeling him in as many new ways as possible. He needed to _invade_ John, take him over, own him completely, _to_ _make him Sherlock’s forever_. It took a moment to sort out lips and tongues but soon enough Sherlock was indulging himself in a hedonistic exploration of John’s mouth.

John wasn’t sure what he expected from their first kiss. Awkwardness perhaps, a slow gradual climb into tender lovemaking? Not this, certainly not this clawing, biting, sucking kiss that made John’s back arch and his legs spread as Sherlock shoved himself between John’s thighs and fucking _lifted_ him! John found his hand had already caught a handful of Sherlock’s long hair even as his other arm encircled Sherlock’s shoulder to hang on tight. Without thinking of it John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist and kissed him back. It was glorious, rough, _delicious_.

Sherlock was running on instinct for the first time in his life. He threw away all the carefully constructed controls that had bound him safely for so long and simply let himself _do_. John’s hand was in his hair and suddenly Sherlock found his gaze on the ceiling, their kiss broken because John had pulled nearly enough to hurt. Before Sherlock could complain John’s was biting kisses down his neck and Sherlock nearly dropped the smaller man with each blissfully shocking caress. His hips bucked, rubbing Sherlock up against John and both men nearly hissed as they felt the evidence of the other’s arousal.

Sherlock’s skin tasted as delicious as it smelled and John thoroughly enjoyed the ragged and shuddering breaths Sherlock was taking each time John hit a sweet spot. He noted all of it carefully, planning an advanced attack for a future date because there was no hell anywhere that would keep him from doing this to Sherlock again and again and again. Using his teeth and tongue in careful measure John nipped and bit his way down that long sublime neck, careful not to mark Sherlock beyond a slight pink but definitely sucking hard kisses onto it.

Sherlock wanted more of John’s skin against his so while John ravaged his neck _and oh my wasn’t that distracting_ Sherlock reached up and plucked off the clips that held his chiton up. The fabric rustled as it slithered away and then John was swearing as their bare chests pressed together, “On the bed Sherlock, please, right now.”

Sherlock took John to the bed but remained above him grinding his naked erection against John’s, only the kilt between them. Sherlock deftly undid it and John raised his hips before yanking it off himself and throwing it aside. Sherlock then found his arse had been taken possession by one John Watson who was using his new handholds to make Sherlock’s hips thrust against his.

Their hard bodies slid against each other and the friction seemed to create a bypass in both their minds for any hesitation they might once have felt for the other. They fell on one another like wolves. Years of repressed desires manifested in a nearly drunken fury of passions as John and Sherlock tried to kiss each other everywhere all at once, both their hands roving, delving, exploring.

It was sheer bliss. Sherlock felt John’s body pressed against his, nothing between them at all, both of them full and rigid. He’d done that, he’d made John hard, made John feel desire. Sherlock wanted to do more, he knew John well, knew his body better than perhaps even the doctor did. He’d spent years studying John, memorizing him, cataloguing his movements, his qualities, his uniqueness. Sherlock knew all the places John guarded carefully and all the places he would experience the most pleasure. Utilizing every scrap of knowledge he possessed about John Watson Sherlock did his utmost to wring one soft moan from John after another.

John was going mad. Sherlock’s hands seemed to be everywhere, his mouth was insanely talented, and John knew for a fact Sherlock had never done this before but he was Sherlock Holmes _and_ _he would know things_. Clearly he was willing to do those things to John but the soldier had to be sure, “Do you want this Sherlock, is this alright?”

 _Was John insane?_ Did Sherlock seem to be lacking in eagerness? “This is more than I ever hoped for John; I want to try so many things. Yes, this is alright. Is it alright for you?”

This was all going to be over in just a few minutes if John didn’t take control because even while he spoke Sherlock’s curious fingers were wrapped around him and sliding in the most devastatingly effective way, “Stop!” cried John in alarm.

Sherlock pulled away instantly, hurt filling him as John rejected him abruptly. He’d gone too fast, asked for too much. Sherlock should have let John take the lead; let him show Sherlock what was acceptable to him. Instead he’d acted like a…the thought got no further because John was pushing Sherlock onto his back and sitting on his thighs. “You gorgeous thing you,” sighed the soldier as he leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s chest, “It’s more than alright. I want everything too Sherlock but we’re going to end up with nothing at all if you don’t stop being so brilliant in bed. Gods just look at you, you’re so beautiful, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“You don’t mind that I’m a man?” asked Sherlock stupidly. Surely that’s why John had made him stop, Sherlock hadn’t asked if John wanted to be touched so intimately and suddenly he felt ashamed of himself. He was better than that. Wait, what did John mean, _letting_ him do this? “I _want_ you to do this John; I wouldn’t want anyone else but _you_ to do this.”

John was struck by Sherlock’s comments. Leaning down John kissed Sherlock’s mouth softly. It was definitely different than kissing a woman but then John suspected it was different than kissing a man too because nothing could be anything like kissing Sherlock Holmes, “I _love_ that you’re a man but I wouldn’t care if you were a woman either. You’re Sherlock, that’s all that matters.” John had almost said it. He’d almost told Sherlock how much he loved him. He’d show him instead. If Sherlock wanted to try _everything_ then John would make sure Sherlock knew that John would do _anything_ for him to make him happy. “I wouldn’t want to be with anyone but you.” _In any time or any place_ , said John to himself, _I love you so much_.

Sherlock felt a new warmth fill him, he chided himself for ever doubting John’s giving nature. He’d never count Sherlock’s gender against him, not since they were being forced to do this. He was letting Sherlock learn with him; truly John was the kindest most selfless man ever to exist. _I love you John, I love you so much!_ Sherlock vowed to make the experience as pleasurable for John as possible so he would have no reason to regret what they were about to do. When John kissed him Sherlock couldn’t stop his eyes from falling shut or his hands from sliding up John’s back. He felt as beautiful as he looked, his muscles strong and dense, his skin soft, the scars fascinating. Sherlock let his hands slide down over John’s hips, he paused for a moment before reaching further to cup John’s behind boldly. He was gratified to hear John moan approvingly, his hips grinding down eagerly.

John was struggling to hold off for as long as possible. It was almost too much stimulation, he wanted to make this last but Sherlock had already managed to tease John into a state of desperate want so when those large strong talented fingers spread across his behind John could only react, rubbing himself against Sherlock’s lean hard body. John had an idea, maybe if Sherlock were in control of the situation his memory of tonight would be better. John could do that, he’d do anything to keep Sherlock happy. Ending their mind-bending kiss John looked down into Sherlock’s eyes, “Would you like to take me?” he asked softly.

Sherlock forgot how to breathe. _Yes_ he wanted that gods he wanted that desperately, “Please.” was he begging? He didn’t need to _beg_ , John was offering! He begged again anyway, “Please John, _so_ much.”

“Good. I want that too.” _Sherlock wanted this!_ It was liberating to hear it. Relief coursed through his body so John kissed Sherlock again, reaching back to push Sherlock’s hands closer together. “Let’s figure this out.” John grinned when Sherlock’s hips bucked upward hard. John was going to make this as memorable as possible for his best friend. Tonight was going to be the night the best sex the universe had ever witnessed happened and _nothing_ was going to stop John Watson from shagging Sherlock Holmes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I discovered that if I never turn my laptop off I can do stuff as long as I don't mind it being as hot as the surface of the sun. Enjoy this chapter.


	10. La Petite Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has waited a long time for this moment and so has John.

 

Sherlock needed to know John further. Reaching up Sherlock tugged John down until he was flat against Sherlock’s body, weighing him down, covering him. It was simply beautiful. Sherlock pushed his knees up between John’s thighs, nudging him forward before spreading his own legs and settling his feet firmly on the mattress. In this new position it was very easy to allow his hands to wander up and down John’s body while they continued to kiss.

Sherlock used the tattoos as a guide, allowing the sensitive tips of his fingers glide over John’s body in a careful pattern, missing nothing. He memorized the curves and angles, the dips and creases that made up John’s body and found all of it beautiful and mesmerizing. When he found it difficult to reach _all_ of the soldier Sherlock rolled them over and began again, this time using his mouth to further investigate the final mysteries of the most fascinating man he’d ever known.

Simply kissing Sherlock was nearly enough to end it for John. He’d waited for so long, had desired and held back for _so long_ that his body actually hurt with the need to come. John knew Sherlock was familiarizing himself, learning John, and the thought of having his every detail committed to Sherlock’s much admired mind palace was another nudge toward early completion. To distract himself John allowed his kisses to wander over Sherlock’s face, over to his ears, and began nibbling his way along Sherlock’s jawline. When Sherlock rolled them over without warning John struggled to contain himself once more as Sherlock began to practically lick him from head to toe!

John had never once had a lover pay such attention to him. He was well acquainted with first and often only times where both partners did their best to get each other off but very seldom was it more than mutually attained orgasm. The vast majority of his trysts had been ones of opportunity, his sexual history decorated with a very scarce handful of short term relationships, and one extraordinarily unsuccessful marriage. All of it might as well never happened because this, _this_ was something entirely different. Not a single one of them had kissed the gnarled scar on his shoulder like they wanted to snog it senseless, nor had any of them spent an inordinate amount of time carefully testing the parameters of John’s various erogenous zones before unleashing a completely devastating series of small bites, curious licks, ghosting kisses, and those sounds! Sherlock’s voice had dropped into a deep rumbling growl; he didn’t even seem to be aware that inaudible moans were escaping him, noticeable most via the vibration of Sherlock’s chest against John’s skin if he happened to be pressed against him at that moment.

 Sherlock was high on the most addictive thing he’d ever come across, _John_. The scent and taste of the soldier made him dizzy with lust. It was slightly different everywhere but overall John’s unique scent made Sherlock’s nose want to press directly against his flesh so he could breathe it in endlessly. He wanted to take in as much of John as he could, wanted to take and take and take in data about John until he was near to bursting with information, surfeit on a feast of John.

The feel of the soldier’s body beneath his lips was gorgeous, he couldn’t get enough. John’s body hair was as fascinating as his skin and his scent. Some of it was soft and some of it was coarse; all of it was different depending on where it was located and Sherlock just knew he’d never learn enough about John, that if he spent his entire life examining him Sherlock would always find something new, something _wonderful_. Everything from the musky sweetness of John’s neck to the tangy salt beneath his arms _all_ of John was sublime. Sherlock worked his way everywhere before finally making his way down to his reward. He’d already touched John but he’d been so excited he hadn’t taken in any details and he’d made himself ignore it until now because now he was going to treat himself to an incredibly detailed examination.

It was beautiful just like the rest of John. Sherlock reveled in the feel of John’s body beneath his fingers, stroking his hands gently over John’s pubic hair, the soft down between his thighs, and ever so gently he pushed John’s legs up and gently kissed his way over the lines he’d scribed onto John’s flesh in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Letting John’s legs down again Sherlock swallowed hard and finally let himself really _look_. The soldier was uncircumcised; the foreskin pulled back just a bit as the head peeked out shyly. It was dark compared to the rest of John, his heavy testicles lightly furred. A subdued riot of hair blossomed thickly around his cock, dark, almost brown but with a hint of gold. It was glistening with a thick drop of clear fluid and without hesitation Sherlock swiped his tongue over it, evaluating the flavor and consistency before deciding he liked it very much and went back for more. Carefully he tested the texture and sensitivity of the entire organ with his tongue, cataloguing all of John’s reactions intently.

 _How did Sherlock know that little kitten licks made John crazy?_ Each delicate little lap made John groan and his cock almost jump in Sherlock’s hand. To make things worse Sherlock had wrapped his long fingers around John to hold him still and he was squeezing with just enough pressure to feel very nice indeed. When his other hand came up to begin rolling and fondling John’s testicles, one thumb somehow pressed to his perineum John knew the moment of truth had arrived. Pushing his hand down a bit rudely John pinched the bottom of his cock firmly, narrowly averting his crisis, “Sherlock, you’re going to make me come.” Oh gods his voice had gone all rough so John cleared his throat and pinched down a little more because just then Sherlock swept his hand up the entire length of John’s cock before sliding back down again.

Sherlock pulled back and sat on his heels, “Really?” He sounded so pleased with himself that John hand to laugh. John nodded instead and was more than a little surprised when Sherlock pushed his hand away, “Good. I have a lot of things I want to do tonight and it might be better if you were a bit more relaxed.” Sherlock’s body was clamouring for attention too but he was well versed at ignoring its demands, now that he had the distraction of full access to John it was simple to force his transport to comply. Sherlock understood human anatomy as well as any advanced medical student and with a moment’s calculation wrapped his hand firmly around the base of John’s cock, leaned forward, and pushed himself downward onto it until his lips touched his fingers. John’s moan was broken and very loud and Sherlock was pleased.

The next several minutes were wonderfully informative. Sherlock had never been personally curious about fellatio until he’d met John and Sherlock’s transport began to remind him that it was fully functional. At first the sensation made him want to gag a bit but Sherlock rubbed the head of John’s cock over his soft palate and used his tongue to massage directly beneath his head. He wanted John to reach orgasm in the most expeditious way possible, reasoning that the pressure and suction provided combined with the small firm pumps of his hand as well as the roll of John’s testicles in his other hand would….yes…. _success_. Sherlock kept his eyes on John but couldn’t see more of the soldier’s face than his chin as John’s back arched and his head fell back. Sherlock felt something warm jet into his mouth, spraying against the back of his throat. The flavor was strong, almost bitter and he fought the urge to gag a second time. Despite the newness of it the act itself was very satisfying, though not as satisfying as knowing he’d brought John to orgasm all on his own. Sherlock was sure that now that he’d experienced the sensations of having John come in his mouth he wouldn’t feel so surprised the next time and made plans to work on subduing the need to gag. Theoretically fitting _all_ of John’s cock in his mouth seemed like a very possible goal and there was no reason not to set it for himself so he did.

John was almost embarrassed about how quickly he was falling apart. Sherlock was only beginning to...by the gods what was Sherlock doing with his tongue? Sherlock had managed to arouse every inch of John to the point where the slightest change was going to tip him over and with small gasp John’s whole body went rigid as he lost the fight. His orgasm was strong, sharp, almost painfully fast and with another gasp he convulsed when Sherlock swallowed before pulling off slowly and licking John clean as he let John fuck through his fist in slow lazy thrusts until the last of his orgasm trickled away.

 _It wasn’t enough_. John was relieved that the pressure was gone but he was in no way satisfied with the night. As soon as Sherlock lay back beside him John rolled to his side and began to sweep his hand over his lover’s body. “We need something for lubricant.” he said after a bit, allowing both of them to calm down before they continued. Sherlock was clearly cataloguing everything he’d just done and John had to grin. He was being filed away into Sherlock’s mind palace and knowing that thrilled him. John wondered if he rated a file cabinet of his own or whatever it was that Sherlock mentally stored his memories in.

He smiled and allowed his hands to rub over Sherlock’s hips, and absentmindedly Sherlock rubbed his hand over John’s. There was no need to be bashful about what they were about to do, neither of them was even the tiniest bit reluctant to proceed. John wanted to take Sherlock’s hard cock in his hand but when he’d moved to touch it Sherlock shook his head and so John had stopped. He understood. Sherlock didn’t want to come yet and just like John he was on a hair trigger at the moment. Allowing his eyes to continue to wander over the untasted perfection in front of him John went back to appreciating the satin smoothness of Sherlock’s perfectly bare body, his pale skin gleaming in the lamplight. _Oh!_ “Lamp oil.”

Sherlock rolled away without a word and went to pick up the lamp furthest from them. He sniffed the container then put a dab of oil on his tongue, “ _Olive oil_ , exactly what we need.” Sherlock pulled out the wick after carefully snuffing it, and brought the small clay container to set beside their bed, “Conveniently for us olive oil has been well documented as a successful….”

“I _understand_ Sherlock.” said John with a wry grin. Sherlock could probably explain the development of lubricant options throughout the ages and privately John congratulated himself once again for marrying a genius. The sheer volume of sexual knowledge possibly packed away inside Sherlock’s mind palace was staggering, the man collected information endlessly if it was useful and sex was very often a featured component in the crimes they investigated. John’s cock couldn’t rise to the occasion but it gave a half-hearted twitch at the thought of trying to work their way through all of it.

“Then you know that you should be rolling onto your stomach now as I am growing fairly impatient.” John rolled his eyes first because they both knew they’d been waiting for Sherlock but he wasn’t going to argue. Sherlock had just given him his very first orgasm of the night and John felt sure he had more than one more left in him. He was still excited and aroused, still filled with desire but somehow this wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t like he’d _ever_ expected to have sex with Sherlock but now that they were actually _doing it_ it didn’t feel strange. It was urgent, powerful, frenzied for bits, but it also felt natural, perfectly comfortable, enjoyable, and right.

John rolled onto his stomach and deliberately spread his knees slowly until he was blatantly spread wide. With a small grin that he knew Sherlock couldn’t see John asked, “Like this?”

There was silence for several moments and then a very loud intake of breath before Sherlock managed a very shaky, “Perfect.” He was dizzy with lust once again, his mind was becoming dysfunctional because he could see everything private about John brazenly displayed in front of him and for a searing instant Sherlock was convinced he was going to orgasm without either of them needing to lay a finger on him, “You’re so beautiful.” he said instead. He needed to kiss that lovely skin, feel that comforting warmth so Sherlock leaned forward to trail soft kisses down John’s spine while his fingers followed the tattoos everywhere, he didn’t stop until he reached John’s coccyx. The shape and feel of John was absolute perfection, everything perfectly in balance, solid and real. Sherlock admired how the tattoos enhanced those very same features and felt a moment’s pride that he’d been able to give that to John, to mark him. If anyone here ever asked Sherlock would be able make the claim honestly and anyone who saw John would know he was taken. Sherlock was entering a state of heightened bliss, his senses nearly overwhelmed with data as he took in every single moan and twitch he wrung from John and he’d _barely_ begun.

John wanted to weep from the tenderness he was being shown. Sherlock was so delicate with him, almost worshipful as he kissed his way down John’s back. He could feel Sherlock tracing his way over the tattoos again and it made John feel warm inside, his innards twisting with a strange sort of pleasure that he was so visibly decorated by his lover, if anyone here ever asked John would be able to proudly claim that Sherlock was the artist, the only person John would ever allow to mark him. If he had to wear these marks for the rest of his new existence then he was fiercely glad that the man he loved was the one to place them on him. Each gentle caress made John sigh. Normally he enjoyed sex that was more vigorous but he wouldn’t change a single detail of their first time for anything.

Sherlock kissed the lines on the backs of John’s thighs, first his left leg and then his right. He was a little nervous once more but also afire with the need to just hurry and do it but he couldn’t. He needed to go slow, to savour this experience, to ease John into it. Sherlock knew very well the mechanics of anal sex, just because he’d never indulged before didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly capable of doing his research. What he didn’t know was what it actually _felt_ like and nothing was going to stop him from acquiring those facts tonight!

Sherlock paused and took up their thin blanket. He made a quick roll out of it and urged John to raise his hips enough to push it beneath him. Now John was angled up so that Sherlock could reach him without undo strain to either of them. He looked simply delicious and Sherlock could hold back no longer. He tasted.

John felt his heart race once again as Sherlock went from tender explorative caresses to meaningful actions, the cushion beneath his hips was apparently the final touch because now Sherlock was kissing John’s behind, using his large hands to squeeze and spread John over and over again until finally two large thumbs pulled at John’s flesh and kept him fully exposed. Sherlock’s mouth was a marvel. John could feel those plump clever lips exploring every secret inch of him, felt a warm wet tongue lap again, toying with the textures he discovered until gradually it was swirling in a very deliberate circle that got smaller and smaller until….oh gods…Sherlock had dipped the tip of his tongue inside John. The soldier had never felt something so decadently filthy and wonderful before. Sherlock did it again and John couldn’t stop his hips from pushing back.

Sherlock never wanted to stop. Each small wrinkle and spit dampened hair was gorgeous, eagerly he pushed his tongue into John even further, allowing the soldier to become as wet as possible before Sherlock reached one long arm over to their side table and dipped his fingers into the lamp. Sitting back Sherlock drizzled the still warm oil over John’s crease and watched it trickle down before catching the droplets with his fingers and swirling them once more toward John’s opening.

Sherlock had to have done this before. He was too good, oh god was this good! When the oil began to slide down John felt his cock begin to wake up a bit and when Sherlock’s fingers began to explore John’s cock gave a definite show of interest. It seemed to last forever and each stage of progress merged together seamlessly until John found that Sherlock was now fucking him outright with two long fingers, the pads of which danced curiously around John’s prostate, not touching it directly but respectfully acknowledging it’s presence. All of it felt so strange but oddly good. It was weird to feel himself be stretched open, his body protesting a bit as it struggled to retain its unviolated condition. It was almost as if he could feel himself give way, yielding to Sherlock’s increasing demands for access. John was panting again now, his cock only half-hard.

Sherlock worked cautiously, massaging John carefully to relax him more and more until it was finally time for one more finger. With great care he nudged it in with the others, listening intently to John’s small sounds, tiny almost inaudible gasps, the way his breathing hitched when he was distressed. Sherlock used every observational power at his command to make sure John experienced the least amount of discomfort he could manage, easing back when he seemed to be going too fast, or plunging a little harder when John’s body seemed ready.

It was fascinating entering John like this. Sherlock filed away the heat of it, the way John’s flesh clutched at his, how smooth and soft it felt, how as time went by it became more and more welcoming until Sherlock realized he was fucking John with three fingers as far as he could get them and John was beginning to rut against the pillow, “Please Sherlock.” begged the soldier. John was ready.

Sherlock found that he was also panting. His thighs were quivering and his hips were snapping forward into the air. He struggled to compose himself as he dipped his fingers into the lamp one more time and coated his erection carefully. Sherlock was so hard now, his balls ached and they felt heavy and full. Sherlock allowed several more drops to slide over John, watching as some of them dripped inward, sliding away to wait for Sherlock’s arrival. Tugging John’s hips he got him up onto his knees. He’d read that this was the most comfortable way to be penetrated for the first time so that’s what he was going to do.

John knew the moment had finally arrived. He knelt there and knew his backside would be glistening with oil, his now hard cock hanging down, clearly visible to the man behind him. He wished he could see what Sherlock was doing but he could feel his lover shuffle close and then felt a thick heavy weight pressed against his behind. Both of them sighed as Sherlock rocked back and forth, rubbing himself over John indulgently, moving around to fuck between his thighs, pressing up against his perineum, rubbing his head everywhere just to feel it. A few more drops of oil and John was nearly dripping. It was almost obscene how sexy he felt like this and John smiled as Sherlock pressed himself against John’s firm and eager little hole.

Both of them groaned softly as Sherlock pushed inside. It took a minute or two before he managed to become fully seated, carefully rocking his hips and trying to keep John as spread as possible to ease the way. Sherlock was going to pass out well before he reached orgasm. The sensory overload was already almost more than he could deal with. John’s body was so hot inside. Every part of him held onto Sherlock tightly, pressing him everywhere and Sherlock felt his cock throb. Once again he feared he would spill without another bit of stimulation so he froze in place, desperately clutching at John to keep him still.

John needed a minute and was grateful when Sherlock stopped moving. Breathing carefully he fought the urge to reject Sherlock’s intrusion, disciplining his body to remain relaxed as he adjusted to the newness of it all. He could feel the weight of Sherlock’s cock pushing down from inside him, the new sensations a strange mix of unwelcome and incredibly lovely. He braced himself on his fists and hung his head, trying to move as little as possible. After a few moments he felt like he’d collected himself enough but just as he was about to tell Sherlock it was alright the man began to move.

Sherlock had to start slow or it would all be over. Carefully he pulled back just an inch or so before pushing back in. The downward squeeze over his cock was divine and he exhaled raggedly. This was going to be difficult and marvelous.  Sherlock pulled back again, a little further this time, and then pushed back in smoothly. One stroke at a time Sherlock accustomed himself to the increasingly amazing feelings John was giving him. He experimented a bit with angles and speeds, never anything too aggressive, but searching for the best ways to make John sigh again, or to rear back eagerly.

Sherlock was a genius. He’d married a fucking genius. A genius with a fat lovely cock who was now fucking John so perfectly that he was pretty sure he was heading toward a second orgasm. Sherlock kept trying new things and one or two of them had made John wince, Sherlock hadn’t done those again, but others had made him buck and sigh, those moves Sherlock explored until John was needy and desperate, wishing Sherlock would go harder, deeper.

John was on edge. His fingers were digging into the bedding and his moans were becoming less satisfied and more anxious. Sherlock adjusted his pace, riding his lover with greater confidence, now thrusting deeply as he increased his speed. It got a wonderful reaction from John who threw his head back and moaned beautifully. Sherlock needed to hear that again so he adjusted his grip on John’s hips and set about wringing one delectable sound out of John after another.

John wasn’t normally noisy in bed. After so many years trying to masturbate privately whilst in the army, or getting off with someone someplace not exactly private like an alley or cheap motel room, John was well used to keeping the noise down. That was before he married Sherlock though and clearly his spouse wasn’t going to be satisfied with heavy breathing and the occasional grunt. Sherlock relentlessly fucked John, deliberately working his prostate teasingly before returning to an increasingly hard and fast pace. One after another moans escaped him and soon enough they were loud enough to fill the room and probably had made their escape to entertain the ears of everyone nearby. John didn’t care. He was close, so very close now.

Sherlock could see that John’s body had reached a near critical point. He was relieved. Hanging on for this long had taken every scrap of self-discipline over his transport he could muster so with a grateful moan that eclipsed all of John’s Sherlock reached down and took John’s cock in his hand, stroking quickly as he fucked himself deep into John’s body without reservation.

John found he was rearing back to meet Sherlock’s frantic thrusts eagerly. This was stupendous, he could hear Sherlock panting nearly in his ear as the tall man crouched over John’s back, his large strong hand pulling and tugging at John’s cock exactly the right way, working over the head and shaft just perfect and then Sherlock moaned again. All the hair on John’s body stood on end as the deep rumble shook him, “Oh. John. I….” Sherlock moaned again and increased his pace; fucking recklessly now and John loved every savage stroke. It felt amazing; he could feel himself nearly at the edge. He was gasping now, his balls drawing up and then he was shouting as he spilled over Sherlock’s hand. It was gorgeous, perfect, powerful, and so utterly satisfying that John swore he could feel the earth and the heavens move. Suddenly John was pushed face down onto the mattress as Sherlock arched over him, his hips pounding downward as fast as he could. John was still dizzy from his orgasm but it felt incredible to have Sherlock lose control like this. “That’s it John, so close, I’m going to…John…I ….John….I…. John… I …lo…ah.”

Sherlock cried out as he released. No orgasm he’d ever had in his life could compare to this one. It was the most intense experience of Sherlock’s life to feel that bit of himself wedged deep inside the man he loved, _gods he’d almost said it_ , but oh my goodness the feelings were so powerful, the pleasure so acute that Sherlock was sure he sobbed a little as he thrust again and again, riding in and out of John’s body selfishly, seeking to extend the ecstasy as long as possible. He lay fully on John’s back, his forehead pressed to the back of John’s head as his hips worked instinctively. At long last his moans trailed away and he slowly stopped moving, regretfully pulling his cock out of John though he would have preferred to stay inside him all night.

John lay there hot, sweaty, and very sticky. They needed to wash up but it was too far to make it to the baths right at the moment. He felt boneless and replete, satiated and content. Sherlock stayed on his back and when he tried to move away John reached back quickly and stopped him. He felt Sherlock smile against his head as he sagged back down, both men loath to lose contact. Shyly Sherlock’s arm went about John’s waist so John shifted himself until he could lace his fingers through Sherlock’s, pulling his hand over his heart. Let Sherlock understand that John loved him, that his heart and everything else John possessed was only for him. Deciding they could clean up in the morning John nudged Sherlock until they both shifted together, John still tight against Sherlock, the blanket unrolled and the worst of the stickiness only on one corner so they could cover themselves. John stroked Sherlock’s hand and brought it up to kiss. Wordless they stayed pressed tight together, their position comfortable and familiar, they’d slept like this a hundred times already and tonight was no different. Comforted by each other’s heartbeats it was only a minute or two before they drifted off to sleep, both men dreaming of declaring their love openly now that they’d finally expressed themselves physically. Tomorrow.

 

[Sacred Band of Thebes](http://antinousgaygod.blogspot.ca/2012/08/the-sacred-band-of-thebes-on-august.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in the middle of nowhere and despite my invocations to various deities my new laptop still hasn't arrived. I guess they've all clued into the fact that I'm actually an atheist, the selfish bastards. Anyway despite the fact that my laptop freezes into an unresponsive heap for hours at a time, and that the #9 keeps inserting itself randomly into text, and that the heat exuded from my machine is enough to keep my living room warm, and that I can't browse easily because of the aforementioned freezing issues I've still managed to cobble this chapter together. I hope it worked out because I wrote it one sentence at a time in little phases in between my laptop's mood swings.
> 
> I am also subtly paying homage to various ancient ideas that didn't get enough longevity as far as I'm concerned. I hope you enjoy.


	11. Dawn of a New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has managed to successfully seduce John but their long awaited union isn't the only thing they need to accomplish.

John woke hot again. This time he smiled as he took in the limp weight on his back, the pale slender arm still cinched tightly around him. John felt very sleepy still and for a minute he wasn’t sure what had woken him. A rumble in his belly told him what the issue was and instantly there was regret that he had not taken the time to tidy up a bit before falling asleep. John felt sticky, a bit stingy, and his lower back was achy. He would have loved to have a long lazy lie-in but his body was feeling rather urgent so with regret John stroked his fingers over Sherlock’s hand before bringing it up for a kiss. “I have to use the loo, love.”

“Alright.” mumbled Sherlock, his arm falling limply away as John cautiously sat up. He was still snoring a bit and John smiled because Sherlock looked absolutely precious right then, his long hair in a riotous tangle, and his face flushed with sleep. The room smelled a bit ripe but it wasn’t unpleasant. Sherlock’s body was now splayed all over their small bed as he continued to sleep face down. Unromantic as it was John wrapped on his kilt quickly. The need to get going growing much stronger and as he was dashing out the door he could have sworn Sherlock said something but there was no time to dally. He needed to go.

Sherlock struggled for a minute and then rolled heavily out of bed. He’d never felt so lethargic but the urgency to tell John how he felt woke him, he’d _tried_ to say it but John was in too much of a hurry so no more than, “John I…” had gotten out before John was gone. With a sigh Sherlock picked up his exceedingly wrinkled chiton and clipped it back on. Shaking it out as best he could he then put on his sandals and flapped his way to the lavatory to wait his turn. John looked uncomfortable when he came out. At first Sherlock was worried that his husband was experiencing some morning after regrets but John’s entire face lit up when he spotted him. He instantly relaxed, the soldier was just feeling the physical reminders of their first union so Sherlock gave him a quick and sleepy kiss before pushing him toward the bath, “Go, I’ll be there shortly.” This wasn’t the time or place for important declarations but Sherlock still felt a twang of regret as he watched John walk off.

John moved carefully. He wasn’t as sore as he thought he would be though he definitely wasn’t in top form in certain regions, the overstretched sensation more unexpected than outright uncomfortable and in an odd way he rather liked it. It was a tangible reminder that last night had happened, that they’d finally broken some of the barriers between them. John thought about the evening previous and the morning that had barely begun, the sun hardly peeking over the horizon.

John felt odd and happy at the same time. It hadn’t felt right to just leave Sherlock alone in bed like that but his body hadn’t been interested in giving him an option regarding waiting. At least Sherlock had kissed him just now. That had been a very lovely surprise. John had half expected Sherlock to withdraw firmly, denying his decent into sentimentality because last night had most definitely been more than a quick shag for science, at least John thought so. He couldn’t help smiling to himself when he recalled how exhilarating it had felt to be almost overpowered like that, it hadn’t felt threatening or uncomfortable. It had been intense and erotic, all of it. When he got to the baths Zakiyah had taken one look at him and grinned with an expression of great satisfaction. _What was with people? Why did watching John and Sherlock’s relationship seem to be everyone’s favourite pastime no matter where they were?_ “Shut it.” he grouched.

“I have spoken not a word oh great master.” she said bowing obsequiously. John huffed out a breath, still feeling testy and yet ashamed that someone would feel the need to placate him with gestures like this. The shame melted away when he saw Zakiyah’s shoulder’s shaking. She was laughing at him! John blushed and then blushed harder when she stood herself up and gave him a very knowing look, “We will begin with the cleansing. I suspect you need it.” John couldn’t blush harder but he tried. Zakiyah laughed gently and gave him a very proud look, “This is a good day.” John had to nod despite his blushes. It _was_ a good day.

John was covered head to toe in foam before Sherlock arrived and he was amused to see his spouse simply stand there commandingly, arms spread wide as a small cluster of women and youngsters tended him. He managed to look bored and embarrassed at the same time. Sherlock _was_ fiercely independent, rejecting the luxuries his family afforded him, always preferring to make his own way in the world. It couldn’t be easy for him to be touched by so many people and forced to endure the beauty treatments that were inflicted upon him. John’s heart melted a bit when he understood that Sherlock was only submitting because without the need for their skills everyone who worked here would be forced to try and find employment elsewhere, likely in another land, and most likely not under desirable circumstances. Suddenly John was filled with a love so fierce he knew it would never fade away, not for as long as he lived. No matter how it worked out he would always remain with Sherlock, even if this was the only time in their relationship that they enjoyed each other in this manner.

John was so patient; Sherlock didn’t know how he did it. The soldier sat comfortably while a young man shaved him closely and another youngster seemed to be dealing with John’s toenails while Sherlock was washed vigorously. This time he didn’t need the paste treatment, he was already as smooth as an egg absolutely everywhere but he did get sanded down once again, buffed to a near shine. Once he was entirely rinsed off he was wrapped in his modest bathing suit once more and allowed to luxuriate in the warm pool with John.

John couldn’t help himself. He scooted right up to Sherlock the second he was in the water and settled himself next to Sherlock’s nearly bare hip. Tentatively Sherlock put his arm around John’s shoulder and seemed to relax when John’s fingers tightened against his hip. Their attendants were swirling around, preparing for an influx of villagers as everyone prepared for the spring rites. Before they wanted to they were taken to the hot pool and allowed to soak but again their attendants worked busily back and forth, there was no privacy to enjoy so they sat in gentle silence with one another. Sherlock felt so smooth, so deliciously smooth that it took all of John’s willpower not to indulge in some rather extensive exploration. He wished they hadn’t fallen asleep so soon. He had wanted to touch Sherlock, to let them both become used to being together in this new way before this afternoon happened but there was no time.

Sherlock soaked in the peacefulness of John. There was so much to say but the words he needed to speak were for John’s ears only. There were too many people around so pragmatically Sherlock decided to enjoy what there was to enjoy and so he allowed himself to remain pressed tight to John, his head resting on his lover’s while John rubbed small circles over his hip and sides. Once or twice Sherlock moved just enough to kiss John’s forehead and John reciprocated by turning his head and planting a delicate kiss on Sherlock’s chest.

It was over far too soon before they were extracted from the hot pool for dual massages and then John relaxed while Sherlock’s hair was firmly dealt with after he was dressed. Despite his yelps and threats the entire mass was elegantly and elaborately arranged, “You do understand that I’m going to supposed to be _planted in a field_ not _put on display_ for the gods.” he snapped as a brightly coloured ribbon was wound around carefully.

“You will do _both_ my Lady. You are the holy vessel and the offering together. What you are about to do is sacred, a _great_ honour. Do not the people deserve pride in knowing they give only their best to the gods? Is that now how you think of yourself, you are _the best_ at everything?” Zakiyah’s unexpected answer and question made Sherlock blink.

“No I am most certainly not the best. That would be John. If the people require their best then having John is the only choice.” Sherlock spoke with certainty. He knew full well how _not good_ he was. The people here had clearly not seen Sherlock when he was at his very worst, when his black moods and vindictiveness lashed out indiscriminately, when the clamour of everything became too much, when the world and all that was in it became _too much_ and he just wanted there to be silence. Then there was John. John was lovely and quiet and calm until he wasn’t and then John was beautiful and silent and devastating.

John was amazed at the surety in Sherlock’s voice as he made his statement. That’s how Sherlock viewed him? John’s heart could not possibly contain the love he felt and it was beginning to spill out. He stood and offered his arm to Sherlock who was finally allowed to rise, the small crowd that tended him melting away. Zakiyah stepped forward, “Lady Olivia must depart. We have preparations to make but it will not take long. We will meet you in the Kingfield when we are ready. Dorus and Bacchides will be with you.

“What? Where are you taking him?” John immediately grew anxious but Zakiyah simply smiled and John sighed, “Wait, let me guess. I don’t get to know because I’m a man.”

“Try not to take it so hard my Lord, the Lady will be well with us, and as I said, it will not be for long.” She waited patiently.

Sherlock was immediately unhappy. He had things to say to John, _important_ things and all he needed were a few minutes of privacy so he could just _say_ them. With dismay he noted that the people were beginning to come through the baths, small crowds of women at first who would wash briefly before they went off to join Sherlock and the others. The men would follow and everyone would meet when the ritual was performed. There was no privacy to be had and glumly Sherlock realized that he wouldn’t even see John until it was time for…their role. Sherlock swallowed hard. He really didn’t want to do this, not in a field, not surrounded by all the people, everyone listening….he shuddered and suddenly John was there.

John knew Sherlock better than absolutely anyone except his immediate family and he could read the distress grow and instantly knew the reason why. Without hesitation John went up to Sherlock and pulled him into his arms, “We can do the same as last night.” He offered instantly. It wasn’t right that Sherlock’s first time be right out in the open, he must he horrified at the idea of exposing himself intimately to so many. Sherlock was entirely an exhibitionist when _he_ _planned to be_ , otherwise he was as prudish as a Victorian maiden no matter how well tailored he’d kept his wardrobe. Today must be an absolute nightmare in the making for his lover.

“Anything you need Sherlock, you know I’ll give you absolutely anything you need so we can do this.” _I love you so much, I’d do anything for you_ , he said silently. John wished passionately that they’d had even a minute of privacy so he could have at least _begun_ to tell Sherlock how he’d felt but there had always been someone so close, one of the twins usually as well as the handmaidens that seemed to provide most of Sherlock’s services. Today might be easier on the younger man if he at least knew he was loved and that John would never wish to hurt him, or to make him uncomfortable about his sexual choices. Sherlock was doing so well, investing himself fully in everything the way he only did when everything was at stake. The least John could do was try to ease the way, as it were.

Sherlock knew John’s offer was honest. He would do it, he would allow Sherlock to take him again instead of doing the taking as he was supposed to and for a long moment Sherlock was tempted to say yes. His mind threw up one fact after another and when added together the pros far outnumbered the cons except for one decisive factor, it would hurt John. He needed time to recover after last night though he wasn’t complaining, even a single day would have helped. Sherlock could not physically bring himself to cause John damage and anal intercourse after such an energetic first bout with substandard lubricant and an inexperienced partner would add up to the kind of potential damage they could not risk in such a primitive time. John could _not_ be hurt, not a bit, not if it could be avoided. No matter how mortified he might feel Sherlock reminded himself that it was all just transport and no matter what, John would take care of him. It wasn’t being taken by John that troubled him, it was doing so in front of so many witnesses. Sherlock wasn’t shy exactly but he was reluctant to share this last part of himself with anyone but John. There was no real decision to make. “It’s alright John, I trust you.” _I love you_ , he said softly to himself and to defuse the tension he added, “After last night I think I am looking forward to seeing how you perform _under pressure_.”

John couldn’t stop the lascivious grin that plastered its way across his face. Both of them knew that under pressure was where John thrived. He’d always been Sherlock’s sword and shield, right from the day they met. Today was a battle of a different sort but John would not disappoint and both of them knew it. A curl of heat began to build despite the small crowd around them and John satisfied himself with a single chaste kiss before watching Sherlock be taken away by a group of giggling women and girls. He sighed.

Dorus was waiting for him at the exit and silently he led John to Bacchides who immediately stood, his face apologetic and nervous. After telling them that they had only a very short amount of time to eat John sighed again looked up at Bacchides, “It’s alright. I’m not angry anymore.”

Bacchides looked understandably doubtful. If John really had lived here for so long, and now that he wasn’t fully distracted by Sherlock John could feel those other memories crowding up again, then Bacchides would have seen John lose his temper more than once and it normally took a long time to repair it. On the other hand a night of the most amazing sex he’d ever had went a long way toward balancing out any negative feelings John might have had about Bacchides’ clumsy attempts at matchmaking. “I still feel regret.”

“Well you should.” snapped John. He caught himself short and tamped down the anger he thought he’d put away, “Look, I’m never going to be happy with what you did but it worked out. I don’t want to keep going back to it again and again so let’s stop.” They would have to live here in this small place for as long as it took Sherlock to figure out how to get home and they hadn’t even started yet. John shook his head, “What do we do now? Sherlock is gone with all the other ladies.”

Bacchides sighed, “Yes I know. Aliyah is with them.” Bacchides stood up straight, a blush staining his cheeks, “Not that I know where she is…all the women are there…I would never imply…she’s a good person!” he ended defensively and looked imploringly, “Nothing happened.”

John’s mood changed. Bacchides looked so flustered and so completely discombobulated that John finally felt like he wasn’t the most lost person in the room. Here in front of him was a situation that he could at least understand, “Did she spend the night with you?”

Bacchides nodded miserably, hanging his head and looking penitent, “Nothing happened I swear! We talked, that’s it…well…we might have held hands _but that was all!_ Please, don’t think ill of her. She’s not like that.”

John recalled so much of Aliyah now. On their search for information and supplies John and Sherlock had taken numerous trips to surrounding cities, it had been like traveling to different countries each time. While there they had happened upon so many different people in so many different types of dire circumstances that neither of them could resist rectifying. Aliyah had been no better than a slave for the majority of her life, her physical purity only secured by her success as a dancer. In that regard she was considered to be something akin to a priestess, someone who’s body was not available for common use. Her old owner had mostly reconciled his religious obligations with his personal desires, Aliyah had been on the brink of being entirely ruined if she remained in his company. They had needed to deal with the man and when Sherlock had deduced her situation he made her part of the deal. Their offer was too profitable to turn down so the man had eagerly surrendered the girl.

She had been silent for so long but when they’d finally broken through her understandable distrust she had proven to be highly intelligent, perceptive, caring, and devoted. Sherlock had befriended her easily, it had surprised everyone but John recalled many fond moments of watching Sherlock and Aliyah laugh together during Sherlock’s many lessons, the young woman learning alongside his spouse everything they needed to know to manage a large estate as well as deal with foreign traders. Sherlock and Aliyah practiced together often and John had always felt comfortable leaving them together when he was out helping people with Bacchides or others. He was proud of both of them and very fond of the girl. She had helped Sherlock and John transition back more than once after their memories had been wiped, and Bacchides had helped just as Zakiyah, Lydia, and Dorus had. “I could never think ill of _Aliyah_.” Bacchides withered a little more as John heavily implied that the soldier could definitely consider thinking ill of _him_ and John had to relent. He’d never witnessed a sad puppy look on someone so massive before, “If she still thinks well of you then I suppose I can’t think ill of you either.”

“She scolded me.” admitted the large man, “Rightly she named me a fool and almost refused to speak to me.” John had to smile to himself, he seriously doubted that Aliyah would actually stop talking to Bacchides but the big man still looked pitiful, “I’ve ruined everything haven’t I? First with you and now with her.” If _dejected_ were a person it would be Bacchides.

John sighed again, he was too content with the state of his own personal life to feel much desire to torment Bacchides even a little bit, “She stayed the night with you. Even if you did nothing you still risked her reputation. She’d never get it back, not even if you married her.” He left the comment there and watched in satisfaction as the idea processed its way into Bacchides’ mind and took root. The big man looked poised to say something and John added, “You’d have to ask Sherlock too, she’s one of his handmaidens.” Sherlock had grown close to the people who tended him personally, he could hardly help it. No matter what he’d told people back in London Sherlock was not an unfeeling person, the homeless network was the most obvious sign of Sherlock’s hidden philanthropy, most of his informants got paid whether they gave him information or not and he knew all of them by name and story. If he was still angry with the large man asking for permission to wed Aliyah would be even more difficult.

If Bacchides had managed to look small _before_ he collapsed into himself now, “My life is as good as over.” he said forlornly, “The Lady Olivia will never forgive the slight I have done her, Aliyah will never consent, why would she? I should go and find another land to be a plague upon.”

Bacchides’ misery was enough to make John smile and diffused the last of the angry feelings he’d still had. He couldn’t possibly be angry with or jealous of someone who was so clearly besotted with someone else, “Sherlock is much more of a romantic than he’d ever admit and I have a very strong feeling that if you asked her properly that Aliyah might not say no to you.” Also the prospect of having Bacchides safely married of was not an unpleasant one nor was the idea of seeing Aliyah safely taken care of by someone who could protect her. This world was a far rougher place than they were accustomed to, having a massive husband would definitely ease the way for a woman as pretty and talented as she was.

As the big man rose and led John to the small table already bearing their simple breakfast John wondered what Sherlock was up to and how he would get through the rest of the day. Deciding he could do nothing about the wait he sighed yet again and said, “Let’s eat. If you really want to wed I will not stand in your way _if_ I am satisfied that it’s something Aliyah wants as well and _if_ Sherlock agrees.” They were in a very different land, Sherlock’s personal attendants were in a different class than the casual labourers that took care of their lands and homes, Aliyah would most certainly require his permission. Bacchides nodded and sat silently to break their bread while John wondered what Sherlock was doing.

They’d barely had time to finish before Dorus arrived, “It’s time my Lord, we must await the procession.” Procession? There was going to be a procession? Was Sherlock in it? Where was he now? A little concerned John could only nod and rise, ready to follow the young man and do his part for the people.

Sherlock was struggling to breathe. They were in a heavily draped room, wide panels of sheer cloth hanging in great swaths across the walls of the crowded room and in the center was a brazier filled with red coals. On them burned sheaves of herbs and it filled the air with both fragrant and acrid smoke. When he began to get lightheaded he wasn’t sure if it was because he was short of oxygen or if some of the herbs were narcotic. He hoped not, John’s lectures could be quite sharp when it came to Sherlock and the use of mind altering substances. Aliyah stood near his right and Zakiyah to his left but Lydia stood behind a deeply cowled woman who tended the herbs.

The women began to chant, her voice low and clear. She threw another bundle of herbs on the brazier and started her chant again. This time the youngest women joined in, their voices clear and high. Another bundle of herbs joined the pile, the smoke growing thicker and thicker as the chant grew louder and started again. This time the women of childbearing years joined it, adding depth and harmony to the chant and turning it into a song and when it began yet again the oldest women joined in and the room began to empty.

Sherlock was led to a small clearing surrounded by the now silent women. Cups of wine were distributed giving Aliyah a moment to explain that any man or woman could pair themselves together today and none would think the worse of them. Any children born from today would be considered extra fortunate. “Do you have someone in mind?” he asked absently and was not surprised to see a delicate blush color her cheeks, “Let me guess. He’s unnecessarily large and smells like honey.” Aliyah’s blush deepened but she said nothing, Sherlock considered all the facts that flooded together in his mind. _Aliyah was alone. Bacchides was alone. Together not only would they_ not _be alone but she would gain a fearsome guardian and he would no longer be a threat to Sherlock. Interesting. This could be very advantageous_. “You know that the lord of the land is entitled to perform marriages.” John would be surprised to learn that but Sherlock was already calculating. This was very good indeed. If Aliyah and Bacchides wed they would be entitled to become landowners and eligible to take over the estate when Sherlock finally figured out how to get them home! This was very good news indeed.

Sherlock’s train of thought was completely derailed when his chiton was taken away, leaving him in only the thin strip of linen that Zakiyah had secured around his hips after his bath. Another long loose panel was draped over his hair, the fabric pulled up around his shoulders where it fell down to the ground, obscuring him completely. With some awkwardness Sherlock suffered to be blessed, his fertility praised, his upcoming children admired. None of it would ever happen of course but the priestess went around and gave the same blessing to all the women and so he felt slightly better. To distract himself and to try and understand what he was being influenced by Sherlock tried to determine what was being burned on the fire but the scents were so overwhelming he could not sort one from the other, besides that he was now being nudged forward and realized he was being herded outside.

The chanting resumed only now the women were walking in step to it so slowly all of them were dancing forward along a wide path that wound around their home and off into the woods. It was a bit dark in there but they weren’t in it for long, winding around here and there as they seemed to gather even more women. Zakiyah bumped into him and he felt a small wooden vial being pressed into his hand, “Oil.” She whispered and Sherlock flushed scarlet. He nodded his thanks and she continued to walk beside him, singing and chanting with everyone else.

Aliyah reached out and took his hand comfortingly, “I am afraid too. This will also be my first time.” Sherlock gave a shuddering breath and squeezed her fingers. She at least had the choice to find someplace private. Sherlock could see the field coming up and almost sagged with relief when he saw a small structure that had been erected, no more than simple posts stuck into the ground with sheer cloth tacked between them. There seemed to be some kind of blanket on the ground and he was so grateful that he would be given even a hint of privacy. Suddenly he heard male voices off in the distance. They were singing and chanting too. As they approached the women’s song and the men’s song merged and became a great harmony. Hand drums and wooden pipes played and he was certain there were other instruments but he couldn’t focus. His head was still foggy and suddenly he felt a rush of heat. With a languorous sigh Sherlock decided that some of the herbs had indeed been narcotic because he felt very nice indeed, so nice in fact that he didn’t mind when Lydia pulled the fabric from his body and urged him to walk forward almost completely naked, the crowd of singing women parting to let him pass barefoot into the field.

John appeared at the far edge, the freshly turned furrows making gently mounded rows the went on for a great distance but even still his eyes locked onto Sherlock’s form as he disappeared behind the delicate screen. There was no hesitation in his step, he forgot everyone around him and everything that was happening.  _His mate was here_ , it was time to offer themselves up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New machine is sweet....loving it. Will be writing as much as I can but honestly even with the new unit to play with I'm pretty busy so keep your fingers crossed. I swear I will utilize every spare moment to write with.


	12. Rites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have been brought together for an ancient ritual

 [Pompeii erotic artwork](http://realhistoryww.com/world_history/ancient/Misc/Common/paestum/Pompeii.htm)

Sherlock could smell everything. He felt like he could hear _everything_. People were still singing in the distance and that comforted him. No one was exactly close and that was good too. The small space he was in was laid out with a densely woven carpet upon which had been lain a fine woven blanket. The freshly turned soil beneath it had been flattened but it was still a little spongy but firm. The posts had been wound with flowers along with sprigs of herbs tucked in here and there. He found himself staring at them, mesmerised by the textures and scents, “Sherlock?” He turned up and looked at his husband. John looked incredible, he always did. He was wearing his kilt and he was fascinating. Sherlock couldn’t help but admire the tattoos and everything they didn’t hide. “Oh my god you’re stoned out of your _mind!_ ” John appeared entirely dismayed, “Did you do this or did someone do this to you?”

Sherlock knelt on the blanket and felt so much better, John was so wonderful to point out the obvious answer already. Sherlock felt good because John trusted him but he still wanted to explain, he didn’t want misunderstandings to grow. Carefully Sherlock brushed the dry soil from his feet and shuffled forward. He looked up at John again, “They did it to all of us. I didn’t realize until after it was too late.” Everything was so clear. Of course John would be upset, he cared for Sherlock. He was a _doctor_ and wary of Sherlock’s health, knowing very well what his weaknesses were, “I’m sorry.” He was, he didn’t want to worry John, not about that.

John’s face softened, “There’s nothing to be sorry for love. You didn’t do it on purpose. I _am_ a little sorry that you’re like _this_ though.” Sherlock felt relieved that John wasn’t angry with him and slid a little further downward. Being prone seemed like a fantastic idea so bonelessly he went down the rest of the way, propped up on one elbow to eye John. The soldier really was glorious. His tattoos looked so good on him and Sherlock felt a coil of possessive pride steal into him. The fabric around his hips was bothersome so without further ado Sherlock plucked at it until it fell away and left him completely bare, his erection hard and jutting. “Oh gods.” whispered John in an awed voice.

John was so torn. He didn’t want to have sex with Sherlock while he was like this but people were literally watching their every move. He knelt, allowing his eyes to wander all over the utter perfection that was Sherlock who was smiling up at John, his glorious eyes dilated and almost glowing. His face wasn’t slack, if anything Sherlock looked almost like he did when he was in the middle of research, focused and almost hyper-alert. It took only a second for Sherlock’s eyes to graze over John’s entire body before he blinked twice and said, “There is no lack of consent John, I was fully aware of what we were going to be doing _prior_ to being exposed to the herbs. I believe it’s meant for spiritual purposes. They only allow the eligible women to partake.” he explained languidly, “It makes all of us ladies…interested.” Sherlock was leering at John, actually _leering_ at him, “I am. _Very_. Interested.” Sherlock’s gaze was anything but subtle as he deliberately looked John over, “Get rid of the kilt John.”

It was falling to his feet before he even realized he had moved. Sherlock made an approving sound and immediately John’s body reacted, “This feels a little wrong.” This had to be a bit not good, not good at all.

“Oh I’m sure you know all sorts of ways to make it feel a little _right_.” replied Sherlock glibly. John now noticed that something was curled in Sherlock’s fist. When Sherlock saw where John was looking he opened his hand slowly to reveal a small thin container that seemed to be made of wood. Feeling like he was swimming through a world of pure sensation Sherlock explained in a dreamy voice, “We’ve been given a bit of help, my John, my lovely, lovely John.” He observed how John shivered at the sound of his voice, the heat, the desire, everything he had poured into those few sounds had registered. Sherlock allowed himself to collapse backward, drawing one elegant leg up to reveal himself, “I had so many things I wanted to tell you John but I can’t. Not right now. Right now I’m only interested in getting one thing from you.”

John was conflicted. Sherlock was drugged but the people…they were waiting for them to begin, the singing growing louder as more and more people gathered along the edges of the field, “It still feels wrong.” Sherlock was astounding. John realized there were no tan lines of any sort, Sherlock was a very pale brown all over. Suddenly he could see Sherlock playing in the ocean, nude and smiling, or sitting in a field of flowers, adorned and examining everything. Oh…his skin almost shone and his hair gleamed. John felt all his objections melting away because Sherlock seemed to be close to writhing on the ground in front of him.

“I’m so sensitive right now John.” said Sherlock, his voice carefully controlled, “Whatever we inhaled has dramatically increased my need for sexual gratification. Indeed it is rapidly growing uncomfortable.” Sherlock’s hands began to wander all over himself and he closed his eyes to enjoy the sensations, “I want this John but only with _you_ , I don’t want this need to grow and grow until I am driven to find someone else. Please, spare me that.”

Jealousy raged through John at the same instant that protective fury drove him forward, “Never Sherlock, I would never let that happen. _I’m_ your husband, only _I_ have the right to touch you. I would _never_ allow anyone to ever lay a hand on you, _not ever_.” He was almost growling the words out and he had his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face. How had he gotten over here so fast? He didn’t recall moving!

Sherlock was nearly purring at the display, “I want that John, I want to be yours and always yours. I think I’ve always wanted it at least, I can’t remember _not_ wanting it.” He couldn’t say _the words_ to his soldier, not right now but he could tell John other things. Sherlock did but when he began he couldn’t stop, “You’re the only one who makes me _feel_ things and I like them. I like how you touch me John, I want you to touch me all the time, even the little touches. I like holding your hand and I like sitting beside you. I like the way you smell and the way you feel. I like everything about you John, you fit me. You fit my world. You _are_ my world.”

The things Sherlock was saying weakened John’s will one word at a time until it crumbled away entirely and he was kissing his lover passionately, “You incredible, amazing, fantastic man.” He said roughly, his throat closed up as he struggled to keep in the words he was saving for later. He was disappointed he couldn’t tell Sherlock but it wouldn’t be right. John wanted Sherlock’s _real_ reaction the first time he told him he loved him, right now Sherlock was in a real _state_ , his pale skin beginning to gleam as a body blush began to grace his flesh, “If that’s what you want then I am more than happy to give that to you Sherlock, I like doing things like that with you.”

“More touching?” asked Sherlock, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice because he was beginning to feel quite needy. His skin felt tight and overheated, all the points and planes of his body were craving contact.

“As much as you want Sherlock, for as long as you want.” promised John ardently. “There’s no one I want more than you, I will never want anyone but you ever again, I swear it.” John did, he meant it. He _was_ Sherlock’s through and through. Even if all of this ended right now John would never stray from his lover, not even if Sherlock decided to never allow their intimacy to blossom again. Sherlock didn’t need to beg for touches, John’s hands were already roaming and both of them were breathing a bit harder. Sherlock’s body was so wonderful, hard and lean, smooth and graceful. John almost crooned as he traced over Sherlock’s lines, “You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.” said John rapturously, “I think  you’re so perfect Sherlock, even when you’re being a jackass which to be fair, you haven’t been, at least not here. I want to be with you too, always. I want to make you feel good, if you’ll let me.”

 _Let_ him? Sherlock was practically begging John to take him! To emphasize their goal Sherlock pressed the small vial of oil into John’s hand and very deliberately spread his legs. His cock lay against his lower belly, heavy and wanting attention. Sherlock didn’t care a whit that anyone was watching and the chanting was actually quite hypnotic, “I insist.”

 Oh gods John wanted to eat Sherlock up. He looked simply delicious and there was no way to resist. Kissing his lover deeply John allowed his hands to continue to roam. Sherlock was moaning softly and his entire body trembled whenever John’s fingers ran over an especially sensitive spot, “I have to open you.” Sherlock trembled hard all over once again but his legs opened willingly and his back arched, “Oh gods.”

John realized he was as hard as Sherlock was as he gently turned his lover over and got Sherlock to his knees. John wanted to linger, to draw out Sherlock’s first time but the urgency between them was growing too intense. John wondered for a moment if his meal had been drugged as well because he was feeling a level of arousal that was so extreme it was making him blurry, his motions automatic instead of deliberate and he tried to rein himself in but it was hopeless. The next thing John recalled was finding himself with his face buried between Sherlock’s cheeks, Sherlock’s cock in his hands as John licked him boldly from top to bottom. Not one inch of Sherlock was left untasted, John’s tongue probing and swirling when he was close enough to his target, laving Sherlock heavily with his tongue, making him slick. Over and over again John licked at Sherlock’s hard shaft, passed over his already tight sac, and dipped into his sensitive and inviting flesh.

It was too fast and not fast enough. Sherlock was torn between shock and desire when he felt John’s mouth on him. He struggled to process the sensations, desperately cataloguing them away to examine later, trying so hard to control the influx of data that was rushing through him but it was so difficult due to the extremely pleasurable nature of it. John was a genius in his own right, just brilliant, fantastic, incredible, clever, _filthy_ little man! The assault on Sherlock’s most delicate region was executed with military precision as John used all of his extensive personal knowledge to reduce his lover into a near sobbing mess of want.

Sherlock groaned when John finally breeched him with a finger. His toes were curling as he kept his chest pressed to the blanket and his knees braced wide. He was sweating lightly now. John’s caresses were maddening, the hunger inside him was growing, he needed something more and a single finger already wasn’t enough. Sherlock pushed back recklessly and gasped as he felt a sharp twang that bordered on painful, “Shh sweetness, it’s alright.” John’s hand was on his hip rubbing soothing circles. Sherlock relaxed as John went back to gently moving inside him before replacing his finger with his tongue once again. Methodically John worked at him, not exactly rushing but definitely moving along as quickly as he could, both men feeling the urgency. Sherlock wished they could take their time but he also wanted this to be over so he could be someplace alone with John.

Sherlock allowed him to continue for a few more minutes before he whispered, “I’m ready John, please, _please_ I can’t wait any longer.” Everything was becoming overwhelming, his senses seemed to have expanded somewhat or at least Sherlock felt he could see every mote of dust in the air, could hear every different voice that sang around them, knew the smells that wafted over them, could feel the heat from his lover and wanted it inside him. “I want to see you.”

John hesitated, it would be far more comfortable for Sherlock in his current position but he’d asked and John could not deny him. Without a word he simply moved so Sherlock could twist around before he repositioned himself between his long lean legs. Uncapping the wooden vial John coated himself first, repressing the need to keep stroking before he used a generous amount on Sherlock, slicking his fingers and working them inside the younger man until he was satisfied that they were as prepared as they could be.

John had to pause. This was a special moment in his mind, he wanted to drink the image in. Sherlock was flushed a light pink from head to toe, his complex hairstyle acting almost like a pillow for the man. John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock’s mouth, sucking his tongue lightly before moving down to lavish kisses along his throat, over his collarbone, over one nipple and then the next, and lastly placing a single firm kiss directly over Sherlock’s heart. Carefully John sat on his heels, tugging Sherlock closer and pushing his knees up. Almost effortlessly Sherlock spread his legs high and wide, folding himself open with hard earned flexibility. John groaned at the display and positioned himself, “I’ll try to go slow.”

Sherlock was nervous despite the drugs and despite the fact that he loved John. This was going to hurt, he knew it would and he dreaded it even as he craved to be penetrated. Surrendering to the inevitable he nodded and John began. The first thing Sherlock noticed was that John was very warm. It was comforting and made Sherlock feel a tiny bit more grounded. His soldier was ruddy cheeked, his eyes dark with desire, and his jaw set as he clearly struggled to control himself. It was heady seeing John like this, so filled with lust, obviously aching with desire and all for him.

When John began to push inside Sherlock had to clutch at him. Instantly John looked concerned but it wasn’t pain, it was just so strange. Sherlock’s entire body tensed for only a moment before he relaxed and sighed, “Go.” It didn’t hurt but there was definitely an unforgiving stretch that was odd to deal with. His body fought back for a moment, resisting John’s attempts but the soldier was committed and did not cease until Sherlock was certain that he could not take an instant more and then John stopped. Both of them breathed through it and then when Sherlock nodded John cautiously continued.

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to make of the entire situation. He could feel everything acutely but it wasn’t making a connection in his mind, it was if he were watching everything happen through someone else’s eyes, he was growing disconnected to his body, his senses expanding and expanding until it seemed like he could hear and see everything for miles around them. He felt the passion from other couples, felt the winds blow, and the waters crash against the shore. Sherlock fancied he could feel the streams in their beds and suddenly he realized he was part of all of it, made up of the same matter that formed everything around them, that he was part of a greater whole and that here together with John they were one.

John was definitely high as well. Everything was too strange, he felt slightly out of control even as his body did as he asked of it, taking care of Sherlock with as much gentleness as he could muster. He wanted to protect his mate, to shelter and nurture him, to help Sherlock thrive in a world that seemed so set against someone like him. Sherlock was a rare treasure, a one of a kind gift that needed to be allowed to flourish on his own terms. John wanted to be the one to have that honour, to be the one who gave that to Sherlock. John wanted Sherlock to know that no matter what he did or thought or tried that John would always be right there with him ready to help. John found that he was crouched over Sherlock now, their bodies slowly beginning to move as he searched for ways to pleasure his lover, to make Sherlock moan and sigh with delight, to watch the most brilliant man he’d ever met simply lose himself to the feelings that John was giving him.

They were tangled together now, John’s body moving strongly over Sherlock who lifted his legs enough to wrap them around John’s, giving himself extra leverage as he began to thrust back. Their bodies rocked together in a dance that grew both simpler and more complicated as time passed and time did pass. It felt like only minutes but dusk seemed to be approaching before John and Sherlock were gasping and moaning loudly together, John’s thrusts growing sharper and harder, filling Sherlock with quick delicious stabs of pleasure until their cries dragged out more and more.

It shouldn’t have been possible for both of them to reach their peak at the same moment but they did. With bellies pressed together, arms clutching shoulders or wrapped around waists, legs locked tight, they slid and ground against one another until they couldn’t tell who’s heart was thundering more, or where the slipperiness of sweat that built up between them gave way to the growing slick of precum dripping from Sherlock’s cock tight between them. John kissed Sherlock as passionately as he could while they both struggled to take in air, their bodies overheated and trembling with exertion and pleasurable aftershocks. John couldn’t stop himself, his mouth opened and in a voice thick with emotion he said it, “I love you Sherlock, I love you with my whole heart and soul.”

Sherlock looked thunderstruck and for a horrible moment there was fear on his face that was quickly replaced with desperate hope, “You love me?” John nodded, unable to speak again because Sherlock was kissing him so hard he tasted blood, rolling them both over to continue kissing John until they were gasping, “I love you too John, gods I’ve loved you forever.”

The world lurched and went dark. They clung to one another and felt everything around them tumbling away into darkness until all they could feel was one another and with an almost sickening drop the world exploded all around them once again. Sounds screamed into their ears as new odors assaulted their noses, both their arms tightening around each other as they sought to protect their lover from the unknown.

It wasn’t unknown.

When John and Sherlock opened their eyes they found that they were sitting on the sofa of 221 B Baker Street. John was still wearing his kilt and Sherlock was in his pajamas. The Mehndi kit was opened and untouched in front of them and the bottle of whiskey was empty. Both men still had on the metal arm bands and at their feet was a scattering of all the oddities they’d collected on their shopping trip. Sherlock reached up and ruffled his hand through his short hair and his neck felt wobbly from the lack of weight.

John felt incredibly disoriented, he sat back and looked around. He looked at Sherlock but before he could open his mouth Mrs. Hudson bustled in, “Oh my goodness, look at the state of this place!” She kept chattering away she gathered up everything that had apparently fallen around the carpet, “The racket you two make when you’re working on a case, I thought there were a dozen people up here last night!” Sherlock and John looked at one another. What had happened?

Sherlock’s mind was racing. There was no indication of anything amiss in the flat, it looked exactly as it had before they’d woken up in the past…had they? Suddenly Sherlock felt something he’d never experienced, doubt of his own memories. It was uncomfortable but he considered that he might have just woken up from an incredibly detailed dream brought on by strong drink and a lot of sexual repression. He looked at John. What if none of it had actually happened? His heart sank and suddenly he felt bleak. Everything had been so wonderful, he was _with_ John, he had been _with_ John in every way they could be together and now the dream was literally over.

John sat up cautiously, a little embarrassed to be mostly naked in front of Mrs. Hudson but at the same time his mind was reeling with the implications of opening his eyes and seeing modern life happening around him. Had it all been a dream? Had he simply fallen asleep after sharing one drink too many and had the most intense dream of his existence? Suddenly John felt cheated. _It was so unfair!_ He had _been_ with Sherlock! He’d told him how he felt after so long _he’d finally told him_ and now what, it hadn’t happened? They hadn’t woken together in ancient Greece and spent nearly two days being married and together? John swallowed hard and kept his eyes down. He felt horrible, gray and desperately in need of some privacy, “Excuse me.”

Sherlock watched as John flinched away and took himself to the bathroom. A minute later he heard the shower begin and for an ugly moment Sherlock wondered if he was going to cry. He felt their separation acutely, John had just gotten up and walked away from him. Instead he straightened his back and went to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was putting on tea, “Just this once dear.”

At least she didn’t add on the ‘not your housekeeper’ admonition, “Tea would be lovely.” He said. His voice felt thick and raspy, “I’m just going to go dress.” She nodded and patted his hand so he tottered away feeling adrift and lost. His whole world was in tatters, he didn’t know if what he recalled with such clarity was real or if he’d dreamed it all. Shedding his robe he peeled off his pyjamas and stood there naked. The hair on his body looked strange and almost foreign and suddenly Sherlock felt his throat close up and a prickling begin behind his eyes. No. He wasn’t going to do this. He needed more information. If nothing else then Sherlock at least knew he wanted to tell John how he felt so no matter where they were or when they were, he was going to do exactly that. Picking up his robe Sherlock went to go speak to John. This couldn’t wait.

John stood in the shower and hated it. He felt lonely and depressed again. Already he missed being next to Sherlock and regretted simply walking away. Suddenly John realized that he wanted to tell Sherlock how he felt. Even if it had all been nothing but a dream it had to have meant something, at least to John. He loved Sherlock, he did. He couldn’t keep hiding it, it would destroy him especially now that he’d had a taste of what life with his best friend could be like. Making love to a man hadn’t been strange, it had been incredible because that man was Sherlock. It didn’t matter where or when they were what mattered was how they could still be if John were just brave enough to stand up and tell Sherlock the honest truth. Decision made John turned off the shower and swiped himself with a towel. Quickly tying it around his hips John reached for the doorknob.

Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin when the bathroom door opened even as his hand reached for the knob and John was so startled that he actually did step back so sharply his foot slipped and down he went. Legs kicking forward John managed to fall in such a way that his feet knocked into Sherlock’s legs, causing the taller man to lose balance and fall forward.

Sherlock fell right into John’s arms, both their bodies thudding to the bathroom floor as they shouted in surprised. “Boys! Are you alright?” Mrs. Hudson rushed over and looked at them laying there nearly naked and holding on to one another, “Oh dear, are you hurt?”

Sherlock’s mind was blank for only an instant, “It’s alright Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t realize John was still in here and we both stepped on a bit of water. We can sort it.”

“Well alright dear, I’m popping out right now but I’ve left you tea on the table. You’re sure you’re alright?” She looked concerned as they continued to not move.

John blinked up at her, “My dignity is a bit sprained but I think I’m alright. I’m going to check Sherlock over though but I think we’re fine. Have a good day Mrs. Hudson.”

Her eyes were twinkling as she turned away, “Oh I will. Try not to frighten the neighbors.” She left with wink and a smile. John flushed at her blatant tease and recalled how often Mrs. Hudson treated John and Sherlock if they were actually a couple instead of just flatmates and best friends.

Sherlock didn’t want to move even after Mrs. Hudson took her leave. He lay there on the bathroom floor pressed against John, his robe slightly open so his hips were flush against John’s towel, “I needed to talk to you.”

John nodded. He didn’t want to move and Sherlock gave no sign of shifting so he lay on the cold tile with Sherlock laying on him and felt better. He didn’t know what Sherlock could possibly want, maybe he’d had a thought about the case while John had been sleeping and dreaming in technicolour. Whatever Sherlock had thought of John would listen and then he would tell Sherlock how he felt not matter how awkward it was. He was incapable of keeping his feelings hidden any longer, “Of course Sherlock, anything you want.”

Sherlock felt like his limbs were weakening. He felt anxious and disoriented. Without thinking he allowed his head to drop down to rest on John’s shoulders and was surprised to feel John’s arms come up and for John’s hands to sweep up and down his back soothingly, “There is something I need to say to you and I’m just going to say it.” Sherlock felt John nod and his hands slowed. Sherlock cuddled himself down and hid his face for a moment before moving himself so he could look at John directly, “Last night something happened that opened my eyes to a possibility I had not considered. John, for a very long time I have been extremely reluctant to share something with you but I believe it has come to the point where I cannot fail to divulge the truth any longer.”

John didn’t know what to say or how to react. He wanted to kiss the upset look off of Sherlock’s face, to smooth away the worried lines that were forming but he couldn’t. He and Sherlock were just friends no matter how wonderful the dream had been, “You know you can tell me anything at all Sherlock, I’m always going to listen.” He would. If everyone in the world didn’t hear Sherlock Holmes John Watson _did_.

Sherlock was comforted by John’s words and heartened as well. It took only a moment’s thought to decide to continue, he didn’t want to go another day without John knowing how he felt. “John, five years ago you came into my life and changed everything, especially me. You’ve made something happen that no one in the world would possibly believe.” John’s eyes were burning into his and Sherlock could not look away. He could do this. He could tell John Watson he loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not over...not even close.


	13. Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have woken up back in 221 B. Was it all a dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My abject apologies for the lateness of the posting. Life makes its demands on us all. I hope the wait was worth it.

He couldn’t do it. Not laying on the bathroom floor. This was _not_ where he wanted to make an indelible memory. Without another word Sherlock sat back and pulled John up with him, hauling the barely clad soldier directly to his bedroom. John looked more naked without his tattoos than he did without his clothing and the lack of markings on the soldier’s skin was surprisingly upsetting. Turning Sherlock saw John was struggling to keep his towel on and without a thought he reached over and tucked it tightly around the soldier’s waist, securing it firmly before dropping his hands.

John saw that Sherlock was struggling with something big and he was so startled for a moment he didn’t know how to react but as he watched Sherlock simply fix his towel for him the words just came out, “Thanks love.” John was horrified! _What was he doing? Why had he said that?_

Sherlock froze, his gaze darting upward to examine John’s expression which was currently one of shocked surprise and trepidation. Was it truly possible? Were his dreams _not_ dreams and _in fact an event he had shared with his best friend?_ Staring intently at the smaller man in front of him Sherlock said, “John? What is the most recent project we were involved with?” If John said it was the case then he would know it had all been a dream, if not then Sherlock was praying to every god Lydia had made him memorize, _please please please please have the same memories!_

John was appalled with himself until Sherlock asked him and once again the words seemed to crowd their way out of his mouth without control, “We just blessed the field.” Sherlock’s eyes went wide and then his arms were around John in an instant. They clung to one another, their arms as tight as they could get as they pressed their cheeks together.

Sherlock felt weak kneed with relief, “It really happened! We were _there_.” he said, getting the words out from a throat that was trying to decide if laughing or a tiny bit of stress crying might be in order. All he knew at the moment was that he’d never felt more grounded than he did now that he was touching John once again and he knew in his heart the words he had yet to hear _here_ in 221 B were true.

John exhaled loudly and his fingers spread wide to cover as much of Sherlock’s back as he could. He couldn’t believe how tense he had gotten in the few minutes where he’d thought he’d been dreaming. His entire body relaxed as Sherlock tried to fuse the both of them together and it felt so good to have his lover express himself so easily. Now neither of them hesitated to claim a kiss from the other, both men anxious to assure themselves and each other that the declarations they had so recently exchanged had been real. “I love you Sherlock.”

“You keep saying it first.” said Sherlock almost peevishly and John laughed. Smiling Sherlock looked down and kissed him again, “I love you John.” It felt wonderful to have John’s mouth pressed so willingly to his. Eagerly he tugged at John until they were at the bed and happily he let John push him backward onto it. Both of them kissed as they rolled around, playfully stroking and touching one another as they reveled in the delight of it all. They teased each other about the differences in their modern appearances and let their wandering hands explore. Eventually they were laying side by side facing one another, their heads on the same pillow, and their legs tangled together as they discussed what happened. Sherlock trailed his fingers over John’s bare skin wistfully, “I can’t explain any of it John. The markings are all gone, it’s like I didn’t get to that part of the evening and yet the whiskey bottle is empty. I’m sure there was more left in it before we retired for the evening.”

“Do you think it was the arm bands then?” They looked at them. Sherlock peered closely at John’s but neither of them made the slightest move to take them off, not until they knew for certain what was going on, “We need to re-examine everything we collected.” said John decisively.

Sherlock nodded and they got up but held hands all the way to the living room before John realized he was still just wearing a towel. One quick visit to the loo to pick up his discarded kilt had him sorted and perched back on the sofa with Sherlock as they picked through the collection. The tools remained mysterious, the weapons dangerous, the scrolls unreadable. As far as they could determine even the puzzle box remained unopened. Sitting close together John and Sherlock went through it all over and over again, bringing out Sherlock’s viewer to examine the coins and any other small detail they could find. “ _Everything_ is odd, that’s why I wanted them.” There were so many things and they couldn’t determine if anything was unusual enough or in some way responsible for what they’d experienced. As frustrating as it was Sherlock was determined to find the key to whatever had delivered them into such a strange environment.

Eventually they had it all laid neatly on the kitchen table next to their laptops while they sat side by side and began to research every factor they could think of. Sometime during the afternoon John called in for takeaway and both of them said nothing as they picked through their mass produced noodles and pre-packaged vegetables. The containers got a thoughtful look as did nearly everything around them and the sheer opulence of their lives compared to that of the simple people who had lived in the time they had left behind them.

While Sherlock put together a database to begin cataloguing and analyzing everything John researched Ionia, pulling up maps and all the information he could about the entire region, going back in time as far as he could manage. Neither man suggested removing their arm bands to examine them, their reasons remaining unspoken but generally both men silently agreed that all the facts had not yet been uncovered and there was no point complicating matters further by possibly disturbing things. In due course Sherlock set aside all the artefacts and joined John in his research, learning all they could about the geographic location and economic history of their ancient estate, “There’s no real records left, just a lot of old legends and nothing clear.”

Sherlock refined his research and began to trace back different trends and patterns, trying to determine something, _anything_ that would give him an idea of exactly when they’d existed. “There was a distinctive rise in textile trade in the region but it radiates so broadly it’s impossible to tell exactly where it began.” Following his line of thought Sherlock researched weaving and dyes through history, further frustrated by nearly static fashion trends that had not changed significantly for centuries and were therefore of no help whatsoever.

Sherlock mulled over the data they had managed to find, “I suppose it would be a bit much to expect to see our names mentioned anywhere, or even our lands. We’re not even completely sure where it is either.” They poured over topographical maps to try and determine its exact location and narrowed it down to a region. From there John and Sherlock worked their way outward, plotting the locations of various resources and other factors into Sherlock’s database, uncertain if any of it was useful but retaining as much as they could as they tried to arm themselves with information.

 Mrs. Hudson came back with part of a cake. “Oh dear, I didn’t realize John hadn’t finished dressing yet.” she exclaimed, somewhat flustered. It had been several hours already and John had made no move to wear anything contemporary nor had Sherlock come even remotely close to suggesting that he should. Sherlock felt comforted by John’s appearance, enjoying the liberal views of John’s lovely skin and his remarkable scar.

John looked down at himself. He _was_ clad in only his kilt but for some reason even though it was chilly he didn’t want to put anything else on. Sherlock simply kept working on his database, “It’s for the case Mrs. Hudson. John will be wearing his kilt until further notice but if you like he can put on a shirt.”

“Oh if it’s for a case I shouldn’t bother. I know how you are about your experiments. I don’t know how John puts up with all the things you ask him to do.” Accepting as always Mrs. Hudson simply smiled fondly and shrugged before she went into the kitchen with the cake, emerging several minutes later with tea and two slices, “Just this once dears and only because I’m off to my sister’s. I don’t know what to do with this cake otherwise.”

“We’ll eat it up.” promised John, his fork already cutting through the buttery frosting, “Thanks, we need the energy. We’ve got so much research to get through tonight.”

Mrs. Hudson beamed warmly at them once again, a twinkle in her eye, “You two, always up to your ears in something. It does my heart good to see you both still at it after all this time.”

Sherlock smiled and wished for a moment he could tell her that he and John had gotten married or at the very least that they’d finally told each other how they felt. The second Mrs. Hudson had the door shut firmly behind her Sherlock was leaning over and kissing John’s icing sweetened mouth, “I love you John, I can’t ever imagine wanting any kind of life unless you’re in it.”

“Good because I plan on sticking around for quite a bit.” Mrs. Hudson’s cake was quickly forgotten, John nearly dropping his serving to the floor before fumbling it onto the coffee table as Sherlock pressed him back onto the sofa, stretching his long body over the smaller man’s covetously, “Yes please.” said John softly as Sherlock began to kiss him.

It was beautiful and slow, both men taking advantage of easy access to excite the other until they were rutting hard against each other. Sherlock loved how it felt to be draped over John this way, his small warm body fitting perfectly beneath him but there wasn’t quite enough room to be totally comfortable, “John?”

“Mmm?” John was kissing his way over Sherlock’s chest, his tongue flicking over Sherlock’s nipple to make him gasp. John’s hands were also shoved beneath the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms which were most of the way off his hips already, the doctor’s fingers busy exploring and teasing.

“My first time was in a field. I don’t want my second time to be on the sofa.” It took John only a moment to understand Sherlock’s request. He wanted to be taken.

“Let’s go to bed then.” suggested John instantly, “We’ve got proper lube too.” Sherlock couldn’t stop the huge leer that spread across his face, “I’m going to go get it. Strip down love, I’ll be right back.” John tugged off his kilt and left bare naked, his pale buttocks disappearing quickly up the stairs along with the rest of him.

Sherlock had never undressed so fast in his entire life as he listened to John thunder up to his room and nearly fall all the way back down. Bursting in the small man nearly catapulted himself into Sherlock’s arms, both men falling with an oomph on the bed. Everything proceeded with gentle laughter and much love, both men caressing each other curiously, enjoying the slow natural rise of their passions until they were finally incapable of putting it off any longer, “Your mouth!” begged Sherlock. He was on his knees once again and John understood.

In a flash John was kneeling behind Sherlock, his tongue busily sweeping over Sherlock’s hard cock and not stopping until he reached the small of Sherlock’s back before retracing his path and working his way ever inward. John was careful. As far as he was concerned Sherlock was still a virgin, completely untouched. He worked his lover open, cautiously proceeding with as much haste as he could manage. Time seemed suspended, marked only by their heavy breaths and the small sounds John wrung from Sherlock. Finally John realized something, in his haste he’d forgotten to grab something from his dresser, “I’ve got to get a condom.” He stuttered at last, ashamed that he’d forgotten such a basic thing.

“ _No_. Nothing between us _ever_. We’re both clean, you know we are,” rasped Sherlock almost angrily. He would have this part of John, he would! John had gotten himself tested after he left his wife and Sherlock had regular screens as part of his agreement with Lestrade to stay clean for work, “I _need_ you to take me John, please, gods please just do it. I can’t wait any longer.” Sherlock absolutely _had_ to have John inside him, he needed to feel John when he wasn’t hazy with strange herbs.

Sherlock sounded so desperate, and he looked so fucking incredible bent over like that, the hairs on his arse damp with spit and sweat. Sherlock didn’t have as much body hair as John but all of it was soft and incredibly difficult to stop touching. John especially enjoyed Sherlock’s pubic hair which was thick and curly and smelled heavily of pure Sherlock. It made John’s eyes flutter as he breathed it in, causing him to spend a bit more time preparing Sherlock than the detective wished him to but as much as John had enjoyed the smoothness of Sherlock’s body previously the experience was so much better when Sherlock was au naturel, “I want you to ride me.” said John as he slicked them both.

Sherlock shuddered from head to toe when he heard John’s request. His cock was hard and beginning to form thick clear droplets of precum. Moving carefully to the side Sherlock made room for John to lay himself down before he slung one long graceful leg over John’s waist, kneeling over him. Reaching back Sherlock closed his eyes as he grasped John carefully to position him. The intensity of the sensations was remarkable in this position. Sherlock could feel the blunt width of John’s cock push him open, his flesh reluctant. Utilizing some of the dance moves he’d learned so arduously Sherlock twisted his hips the tiniest amount, rubbing and pushing downward until he felt the head of John’s cock breach him. Breathing carefully Sherlock relaxed his body as much as he could and bore down.

John could feel Sherlock’s body accept him slowly. He was breathing carefully, controlling his urge to push upward or to take control of everything. Instead he allowed Sherlock to go at his own pace, unable to decide what looked sexier, the sight of his cock being buried one inch at a time inside Sherlock’s gorgeous behind, or the look of utter blissful concentration on Sherlock’s face as he worked John deeper into him. Sherlock was so tight inside. John loved the fact that he could really feel Sherlock this time, that _this_ experience was crystal clear and so profoundly meaningful that for a moment he had difficulty breathing. _Gods he loved Sherlock!_ He looked incredible right then, the hectic flush on his cheeks deep. Sherlock looked both vulnerable and powerful right then and it made John wild with lust.

Sherlock was going to lose it already! John felt incredible inside him, the stretch was marvelous and the heat of his lover was astonishing. With yet another soft moan Sherlock spread his fingers over John’s strong chest to brace himself and began to move at an increased pace. Each shift in position brought new pleasures and John seemed perfectly willing to allow him to explore and experiment as much as he wished so he did. It wasn’t until he was riding hard and fast that he felt John’s fingers tighten on his hips as a pained expression crossed the soldier’s face, “Darling.” he groaned and suddenly John was thrusting upward as hard and fast as he could. John’s orgasm was loud and almost violent, his hips slamming up roughly but each harsh thrust tipped Sherlock a little further over the edge as he stroked himself. When John’s movements relaxed and became languid Sherlock began to move himself, twisting his hips just the right way, pushing down as hard as he could as his hand flew up and down his shaft. With a broken groan he came, his semen splashing over John’s belly and waist.

Sherlock sat there for a long time, shaking and sweating. John’s hands stroked his thighs and his arms gently as he recovered, perspiration dripping down slowly as he cooled. When his thighs felt like they could lift one last time Sherlock slowly relocated himself and slumped down beside John feeling marvellously satisfied and very content. He was the tiniest bit sore but the minor discomfort was more than acceptable compared to the vast delight he’d just experienced. After a while he drew a smiling and unprotesting John to the loo where they took a quick shower together before returning to the living room to snuggle a bit while they went over the artefacts one more time, “ _Something_ must have done this. The arm bands are the likeliest suspects but even knowing that doesn’t explain anything.” Sherlock examined John’s without removing it. There were no patterns or designs apart from the odd edge that seemed to exist on its own. Sherlock couldn’t verify that without removing it and once again neither of them wanted to.

John picked through the pile shaking his head, “None of it helps. Look, _this_ coin is from Rome but _this_ one is Sumerian. _These_ are hand-weapons but _these_ are actually kitchen implements.” They were looking at various stone items now before John held up the scroll, “This is in ancient Greek but we can’t read it.”

 _Oh?_ Sherlock took the scroll from John and unfurled it. Angular writing was laid out in neat rows and the letters teased his mind, familiar but indecipherable just as John had said. Even scanning it and running it through an online translator only garnered a page filled with random letters, nothing about the text seemed to make sense. “Was it the ink? The kit is yet untouched, your skin is unmarked.” They examined the Mehndi kit but as far as they could see it was a regular kit with nothing unusual about it except for possibly the elaborateness of its container which they also examined. Sherlock kissed John’s bare shoulder absently but didn’t miss the small smile on John’s face afterward.

Sherlock looked deeper into dyes and textiles, certain there was a connection there. Carefully he examined components and techniques, successes and failures, what sold well and what stayed local. All of it was interesting but none of it explained why he and John had woken together in the past to begin with.

John ordered in again late in the evening when he couldn’t ignore his stomach any longer. They ate their Chinese food quickly, returning to their research as quickly as they could, John as absorbed as Sherlock with learning all they could about ancient history, “Gods Sherlock, look at all the wars.” Both men were dismayed to see that the region they had been concentrating on had been the centre of various large incursions, all inspired by the wealth produced there, “This is exactly the problem that ended Aeolis’ line.” John looked serious, “I wish I remembered more about the sorts of people we’ve had run-ins with. So much of it is still hazy.”

Sherlock nodded. He remembered their recent time there and he possessed fragmented memories of the two years prior but it wasn’t enough. It felt good to be researching next to John, both of them were deeply immersed in their studies but still helping each other progress. That was one of the first things Sherlock had admired about John, his ability to help even if he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. They poured over old trade routes and surrounding civilizations for hours more until neither of them could keep their eyes open or focus on anything, “I need to sleep love.”

John looked exhausted and even Sherlock was feeling the strain of sifting through so much raw information. “Let’s wash up, we can continue in the morning.” Together they repacked all the artefacts and shut down their laptops. Another brief shower and a short discussion saw both of them crawling into Sherlock’s bed together. After some twisting around they discovered that they were perfectly comfortable in their favorite position of Sherlock against John’s back, their bodies fitted together tightly.

Part way through the night Sherlock became aware of a difference beneath him. The very expensive mattress was gone and a hard pad was in its place. John was snoring softly but in the dim light of the moon Sherlock could see John’s tattoos clearly. Leaning forward Sherlock whispered, “John, we’re back.”

John woke with a start. Sure enough they were in their room in Ionia, the breeze wafting through the tapestry on their window, the smell of salt water heavy on the air, and the hint of smoke, “The kitchen is already busy.” He said sleepily looking around, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on Sherlock but in a weird way I’m glad we’re back.”

He turned to look at Sherlock who was fingering his long curls a bit ruefully, “It _is_ heavy.” He said with a shrug, “but I too find that this is not an unhappy discovery, should we get up?”

John shrugged. It was dark and a bit chilly so he snuggled back into Sherlock’s welcoming arms, “I don’t know love. How did we get back to our room? Were we out of it all this time? Maybe we should get up, Lydia at least will be in the kitchen.”

Yawning a bit and shivering they dressed and slipped their feet into their sandals. Armed with new knowledge they noted that their dwelling was made of several different types of marble and that the plants growing in the courtyard were not just ornamental but also supplied the kitchen with some of the flavors and seasonings it boasted. Hand in hand they made their way to the warmth of the kitchen and Lydia’s relieved face, “You’re back.”

“We are. What happened?” Sherlock took up a blade and began slicing a root vegetable that Lydia had set down. It took him by surprise to do so but once he started he continued.

“You would not wake up. Bacchides told everyone the gods wished to speak to you so you were cleansed and returned to your rooms. We’ve been waiting since yesterday for you to reawaken. We were worried you wouldn’t have your memories again but that’s not the case, is it?”

“No. John and I recall much of recent past but nothing clearly beyond that brief measure.” Sherlock’s mind was whirling. There was no further clues on how they were being brought back and forth, the time lapse was intriguing as well, had they been unconscious here as long as they had been awake there? He felt tired but not exhausted though they could not have slept more than two hours at most. It was near dawn here, the sky was brightening already.

John yawned, “I wish they had coffee.” Lydia shook her head, “I guess I’ve asked for that before.” She nodded and John sighed, “I’d just like a normal cup of something hot to start my day with.” Lydia rolled her eyes and put together a fragrant brew made of various seed pods and dried leaves, “That’s the ticket!” said John with a grin. Even Sherlock was smiling as he accepted a tall ceramic mug of chai, “Let me guess…Aliyah.”

Lydia nodded, “When you purchased her you were in a city that catered to such travellers. Master Ioannes was adamant about laying in a substantial supply of everything required, especially after Aliyah told you she knew how to make it. She taught us and you have made the spice traders very happy to include you on their route.

The mention of spice traders brought a flood of information to Sherlock’s attention. Bits and pieces of their research clicked together to paint a devastating picture, “John, this area is going to be razed to the ground unless we do something!”

“What?” exclaimed the soldier, John had been nibbling on a piece of bread but he dropped it, “Wait…the traders. They spread word that we’re here. People think we’re vulnerable. By the gods Sherlock, what do we do?”

Sherlock was grim. The invaders would come by land and by water. The people were widespread and vulnerable…or they would have been if they hadn’t already received instruction, “We increase the lessons and expand them to include everyone who hasn’t had a chance yet. We’ll rotate chores and duties so everyone has time to train without letting our various crops and responsibilities to suffer. We’ll need to see about weapons manufacturing and find some way of increasing the mutually supportive relationship we have with our neighbors.

“What about figuring out how this is all happening?” asked John, he was already striding toward the armoury, “Are we worried about that or not?”

“Not, at least, not primarily. I get the feeling that everything is related but I still don’t have all the pieces yet. We need to get organized and we need to examine everything that was discovered with us when we were brought ashore. Come along John, we have a great deal to accomplish.” Sherlock did want to know how they were being transported but that problem had yet to reveal a clear clue whereas the upcoming invasion was something tangible and was happening with certainty. Hopefully it would be far enough in the future that they would have time to prepare the people for it and in a distant way Sherlock wondered what happened to their bodies in modern London. Were he and John simply laying on the bed, their bodies empty shells or were they entirely gone from that world? Mrs. Hudson said she’d heard a lot of noise, was it possible there was some kind of thin barrier in time that they’d fallen through, something at 221 B? If so then why hadn’t they fallen before and why always together, and why here of all places? There were so many questions and Sherlock had never felt so determined to discover more information.


	14. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have returned to their ancient home, much to their relief. There is danger on their horizon and much to do.

The armory was well kept and neat but distressingly free of excess. Zoa was working on spear tips when they walked in, finishing his piece carefully before turning to speak, “You have questions.”

Zoa didn’t seem surprised when John pointed to the nearly empty bins of raw material, “How difficult has it been to obtain what you need?”

The tall man shrugged, “We haven’t really had a need for much. Tools are durable, your people do not use metal weapons often, and the fishermen make most of their own things. It takes some time but it’s not impossible to organize shipments. It would take several days though, why?”

John explained and Zoa listened carefully. “What do you recommend?” John knew that Zoa had been trained in a very far away land that none of them knew. Any new knowledge would give them an advantage so if the blacksmith had suggestions then John was very interested in listening.

Now the tall man looked surprised, “You want to know what I think?” John remembered that the once slave was unaccustomed to being consulted, no one had asked his opinion about his craft before he ended up with John and Sherlock, merely giving him orders to fill, using him like the tools he provided.

John nodded and then shook his head, “You have information I need. In _this_ area you know more than I do and I don’t care how your other masters might have treated you, if you live and work _here_ then I am going to speak to you like one free man to another. So? What do we need?”

Zoa and Sherlock began to speak, exchanging information about the local demographics and having a small argument about the advisability of arming females. Sherlock stared him down, “Do you favor your left arm or your right?” he asked the wiry man.

Zoa looked at Sherlock suspiciously, obviously wondering if some discipline was about to be administered, “My right. Why?” John just shook his head and eyed Sherlock meaningfully. Zoa relaxed and paid close attention to his mistress.

“If you favor your right arm do you cut off your left arm as useless?” asked Sherlock angrily, “Do not blind yourself to the strengths of the people around you based on their gender. Not all men are strong and not all women are weak, indeed some of the most ferocious people we know are women.” John and Sherlock both thought of Sally Donovan and Irene Adler who were entirely different yet very much the same in that they were strong, capable, and in their respective environments, very powerful. “If our enemies see women as you do then we have already won half the battle, they will not expect the more _delicate_ portion of our population to be capable of defending themselves or of being part of a planned assault should that ever become necessary. We are going to be giving instruction to youngsters as well, we’re not so foolish as to leave them vulnerable. Everything must be done to protect them but in the event of the worst….well all that needs to be said is that _everyone_ who can be trained _will_ be trained and there is no other choice.”

Zoa bowed low, “Arrangements will be made Lady Olivia, we have suppliers in three different cities. I will contact all of them.”

John nodded his agreement, “You will go yourself. Make fair deals. Be discrete and request discretion from whomever you deal with.” Zoa nodded and began to get himself organized. Like Zakiyah he’d assembled a small group of children and youths who were learning from him as apprentices. All of them were boys so John asked if any girls had asked to be trained. Zoa looked abashed and nodded, “Let them. If they’re not strong enough to actually work the metal let them learn all they _can_ learn. We will not stand in the way of those who want to know more, not here, not ever.” Once again Zoa bowed deeply so John and Sherlock departed in search of Bacchides.

They found him arriving for an early breakfast, “Ioannes, Olivia! Are you well?” He looked worried and happy at the same time. Sherlock didn’t miss the faint bruise low on his neck or the faint pink lines on the back of his shoulders. Bacchides froze in his tracks, his eyes widening even as Sherlock’s narrowed, his hands reaching out imploringly toward them both, his voice anxious and pleading, “Please! Don’t be angry with her. It was the _festival_ , you cannot hold it against her!”

Sherlock shouted right at Bacchides, striding right up to the huge man and getting right in his face, “I will _not_ tolerate this kind of behavior in _my_ home. You have shamed yourself once already, am I to forgive you twice in a row? You cannot simply _have_ one of my attendants and expect _nothing_ to happen afterward! John! This man has _despoiled_ my dancer! What if she gets pregnant? I’m not going to _ever_ have a baby but _she_ can and unwed to boot? How is _that_ going to look to the people? This is terrible. John I demand that you fix this and fix this right now.”

John struggled not to laugh at Sherlock’s dramatics, “What? How am I supposed to fix it? I can’t give her virginity back, it’s gone for good.” Bacchides was almost reeling now and Sherlock was glaring daggers up at him. John was almost certain Sherlock wasn’t as angry as he appeared but Bacchides was completely cowed so he fixed on a stern expression, “You have strained our friendship for a second time Bacchides. I am leaving your fate directly in Sherlock’s hands.”

Sherlock spun away looking and sounding disgruntled but his answer came a little too quickly for John to be completely fooled, “They have to wed _immediately_. I’m not putting up with calf-eyes and sneaking around in the darkness. What kind of example is that for our household to set? Should we let the entire world think we are undisciplined animals? No, we will _not_. Marry them John. Today.”

“What? Me?” now John really _was_ surprised but then more memories trickled in. Aeolis had married them in front of everyone. John was the master, he could do the same for any of his tenants. He smiled coldly at the big man who was now standing there with his mouth hanging open, clearly stunned and almost ready to fall over with surprise and shock, “Whatever you want my love. Bacchides the beekeeper, congratulations, you’re going to be a married man by the end of today.”

After the beekeeper tottered away on shaky legs John watched a fond smile spread across Sherlock’s face and heard his lover say, “She must be absolutely glowing right now. Aliyah loves him very much, this is the best way.”

John had to laugh to himself. Sherlock probably had this planned for ages too, it wouldn’t have surprised him. “Why not give them time to get ready for a proper wedding?”

Sherlock put his arm over John’s shoulder and shook his head, “The ceremony is very simple but more importantly it will allow Bacchides to gain the status that we need him to have so he can protect not just Aliyah but the people as well. We are building a strange and fragile place here John, there is nowhere else in the world at this time that is doing what we are doing. We will treat these people as well as we can and show them how to continue on without us so plans within plans are required. That’s the best we can do and we don’t even know how much time we have to do it in. We cannot strengthen ourselves _within_ enough. The more ties we bind, the more personal resources we give each person, all of these things will protect us _and_ them.”

“That and the fact that now that they’ve had sex they’re going to want to do so again, at least, that’s how it’s working with me.” John pulled Sherlock closer and enjoyed the slightly bashful look on the taller man’s face. So few things flustered Sherlock that this was a charming new aspect that John enjoyed very much. They were alone for a minute so John took advantage of their momentary privacy to kiss Sherlock, both men allowing their hands to caress the backs of their lover, “I don’t think I could go back to the hands-off way we lived before this.”

“I certainly hope not.” said Sherlock sharply before smiling down at his husband, “It wouldn’t be noticeable at first but if Aliyah did not get pregnant during the festival she would get pregnant eventually and _that_ pregnancy would not be considered honorable. This is best, she will not lose her honor, and Bacchides gains a clever wife. The people will be able to rely on them if we are not here, Aliyah is astute and far-seeing, Bacchides is steady and he always has the best intentions. She will keep him right, she’s very much like you.”

John felt a warm glow inside at Sherlock’s compliment. “I guess we should tell Lydia and Zakiyah what’s going on.” John took Sherlock’s hand and led him away. The wedding was now just one of the many issues they needed to deal with in order to secure themselves so he got on with it. Lydia was very approving as was Zakiyah who sent a small group of youths to bring Aliyah to the baths to be prepared.

Sherlock and John went back to their rooms while Lydia organized a simple but elegant meal to be prepared for the upcoming celebration before joining Sherlock and John as they sifted and sorted their way through their treasures. “This must be memorable.” insisted Sherlock as he chose the most eye-catching items as well as a steadily growing pile of matched disks, “Everyone will see her for the first time in the role she will eventually take. They must see her as the mistress of these lands even before she becomes that. They don’t even know what we’re planning but everything we do _now_ will ease the way _later_.”

It made sense and Sherlock would definitely know everything there was to know about making an impression. John pulled out several pieces of jewelry for Sherlock to examine and soon enough they had a large selection laid out on their small table. After they’d chosen appropriate pieces Lydia took them to their treasury where John filled a small but sturdy chest with gold coins. He filled another smaller chest with similar, adding a portion of silver as well, “For Zoa’s supplies.” John pointed to the mixed chest, “For Aliyah.” John pointed to the larger chest, “Bacchides is a citizen of these lands, he has a home, and an occupation. Aliyah only has us, I don’t want her to feel worry about her future.” John was giving Aliyah a dowry and Sherlock very much approved of the gesture. Everything that increased her visible status as she stepped into this new life could only help her later on.

“Have no fear John. She will be amazing.” Sherlock stood straight and cast an eye over the wealth in front of them, “I need a bit more.” John just shrugged so Sherlock sifted through until he’d found a pile of appropriate coins. Kissing John farewell he left his soldier to join the other women in the baths as they arranged Aliyah for her wedding.

While Aliyah was given the full bath experience Sherlock retreated with Zakiyah to a large room filled with fabrics. There was a large assortment of the simple plain panels that made up the everyday garb of most people but there was also a collection of vibrantly dyed and embroidered pieces made for sale. The weaving and dying of fabric was one of the main industries and the lord provided a large dry room for people to store their goods in. Fully half of it belonged solely to Sherlock, all gifts from people for things he had done in the last two years. All of them were opulent and rich so Sherlock carefully went through them until he found what he was looking for and bid Zakiyah call her helpers to attend him.

Sherlock chuckled as he heard Aliyah’s soft pained protests as she was de-haired. He had the girls lay the fabric out so he could examine all of it in the sunlight before he closed his eyes and mentally constructed an image. Opening his eyes Sherlock pointed to a small piece and gave clear quiet instructions. With nods of understanding they bent their heads and began to work quickly and efficiently, their bone needles flashing as they laboured while Sherlock left to go through the bath himself, though without the extended soaks in the pools.

It still took the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to complete the project despite the fact that every available woman in the immediate region had come to lend a hand. Lydia sent youngsters with platters of fruits and cheeses at one point to nourish everyone, and everyone drank cool clear water fetched in from the stream whenever they thirsted. Sherlock directed the small crowd, watching every move carefully until everything was prepared to his specifications. Aliyah was wide-eyed as he had her hair elaborately braided and bejeweled before he had her draped in careful layers of rich cloth. Heavy gold earrings were matched with a broad gold necklace and armlets, thick gold bracelets covered her arms from wrist to elbow. A heavily beaded head-dress was placed upon her head as well with some ceremony Sherlock attached an opaque and coin-heavy veil onto it to obscure her features, a sign of great respect among her tribe. Aliyah’s khol-lined eyes grew red so Sherlock hushed her. She, if no one else, understood the meaning of everything she now wore and she was deeply moved, “We wanted to, who else has the right to stand up for you?”

“I do not deserve what you are doing.” said Aliyah softly, “I am a simple temple dancer, that is all.”

“That may be where you started but that is not all you are, not anymore.” Sherlock was grateful John had looked as hard as he had at ancient cultures so they both knew that Aliyah’s people, if they saw her on her wedding day, would know she was prosperous and well thought of, from the highest quality blood, and very sought after. The colors he had chosen for her clothes spoke to her purity and value, the elaborate jewels which were uncommon here were very much seen on a bride’s wedding day where Aliyah had come from, not that she had ever thought to marry. With a few yards of fabric and a handful of stone and metal Sherlock had transformed Aliyah into a woman of high station and power. By giving her these gifts in this way he openly claimed her as their family, “When we took you in we made you part of who we are. Bacchides is the most fortunate of men, except for me because I have John, but Bacchides is not a bad second choice, not that I would ever be interested in choosing him and never once think that you can choose John. You can’t. He’s mine.”

Aliyah’s eyes were still red but she was clearly smiling and still very moved, “It was still unnecessary for you to do this for me. You could have let him continue as he willed with no loss of face to you or your household.”

Sherlock scowled down at her. Did she seriously think he would allow her to be used as a bedmate and nothing more? “Never _assume_ Aliyah and don’t be foolish. You are smart enough to begin to understand why I would choose to do this even if I didn’t already know that you and your husband-to-be had feelings for one another. This union is of extreme advantage to John and myself, I will demand much of you both and John will demand even more. We will have _everything_ of you both and in return we will give you everything back.” Aliyah had a solid way of looking at the world, she was practical but there was poetry there too. Sherlock once again saw much of what he loved about John in her.

In the outer courtyard Bacchides was a nervous wreck and in a perverse way John enjoyed watching the huge man fall to pieces. Dorus was there with a group of youths from the bathhouse and they were making use of the hipbath in the center of the courtyard to bathe and prepare the large man for his wedding, “Why today? Why so fast?” Bacchides blurted out at one point.

John shrugged, “It’s your own fault. If you’d left Aliyah alone yesterday Sherlock wouldn’t be making you get married today. You’d still be pining in the forest hiding behind the beehives while Aliyah spends all her free time with my wife and getting to know the traders.” John kept his smile to himself as he watched a small frown replace the slightly wild-eyed expression that had been on Bacchides face, “Be grateful that you weren’t just dragged out in front of everyone with no notice, remember, he likes Aliyah more than he likes you.” Sherlock adored Aliyah and John had never once felt threatened by that affection, she was like a little sister, both of them wanted to shelter her and keep her safe.

Bacchides seemed to be struggling with it all, even the fact that he was now kneeling in water while two young boys scrubbed his hair and beard barely seemed to be registering with him.

John sighed to himself and began the simple rituals that would mark this as a wedding day. Each region had their own way of making such ties and the legalities of it all were sometimes difficult to work within. Aliyah was technically a foreigner except that John and Sherlock had taken her in much like they would have taken in a ward from any other family. John was giving her a dowry. _That_ would entitle her to a degree of recognition, but in many places Bacchides would not be seen as having a legitimate wife. There was no way John and Sherlock were going allow anyone a way to break them apart so by giving Aliyah to Bacchides in this way the laws of the land would view Aliyah as the daughter of Ioannes and Olivia, and Bacchides now the legal heir to everything.

John took the next step and when Bacchides was cleansed and enrobed once more they walked back and forth over the immediate grounds, speaking of all the responsibilities Bacchides would have to mind when he took over for John. There was a lot. Keeping the bees was only a small part of how the estate funded itself and supported its tenants. There were also the fishermen whose shallow vessels harvested the waters close to shore and brought up the shells that in turn were used by the dyers. Fields of flax were grown to produce linen, the olive groves were as lucrative as the beehives and just as useful, the potential to build vineyards was mentioned, and then John launched into their plans to protect the people, instructing his heir on all the important points he would need to keep in mind, formally introducing Bacchides to all that he would eventually be accountable for. “We have many plans and we hope we have the opportunity to make those plans happen but you know what our situation is really like. We can offer no assurances, promise no amount of time. Each minute with us must be used to the fullest Bacchides, we are putting all our trust into you.”

Bacchides stopped walking and looked down at John, his face grave and worried, “I don’t deserve this honor.”

“Well you’re getting it no matter how you feel. You took your own choices away yesterday, Sherlock won’t change his mind, you know he won’t.” Bacchides still needed a lot of guidance but even without it he would do well enough. With their help he could excel. He was a good person, not perfect but then his imperfections were teaching him the lessons he needed to know in order to help others. John was content with how things were working out.

John took Bacchides back to the armory where Zoa measured both men. All of them discussed their ideas regarding defence until Dorus approached with a small meal. After they ate their simple repast John took Lydia back to the main courtyard and began to prepare the last of the requirements, the residence for the newlyweds. Their wedding would not be considered finalized until they began to cohabitate, neither Bacchides or Aliyah owned their own home, they had lived in their small rooms along with the rest of those who stayed inside the estate grounds. Now the corner furthest from Sherlock and John’s room was emptied of couches and chairs and refilled with a large bed and four empty chests where their eventual accumulated riches would be kept. Heavy tapestries were hung over the window and fresh oil lamps were set on the newly installed table.

Bacchides looked at the empty chests ruefully, “I think you’ll be fine.” said John reassuringly, not mentioning Aliyah’s incoming chest of gold, or her jewelry, “You’ve got a lot of skills, you will do a lot with these lands and you will help make not just yourself but everyone around us prosper.” Lydia came into view and bowed deeply toward John, “It’s time.” Bacchides stood tall and exhaled, clearly mentally preparing himself. He followed John as he was led toward the outer courtyard.

The bathhouse was packed with curious women as Sherlock finished with Aliyah’s ensemble. She had been transformed from a simple girl into someone stately and mysterious. He was pleased and from what he could see of her eyes, so was she, “It is time.” He said calmly and she nodded. Turning on a graceful foot Aliyah led everyone from the dressing room out to meet her groom.

Sherlock stood back with everyone who had gathered and watched as John performed the next ritual, a simple speaking of words where he declared Bacchides and Aliyah as a couple and asked the gods for their blessing. Once they took up residence together the ceremony would be complete. Offerings of wine and fresh fruits were laid out before everyone joined the newlyweds for a small feast. While everyone ate and mingled John and Sherlock stood together and looked over everything, “That was pretty easy.” said John, “I sort of thought there’d be a lot more to it.”

“At least we didn’t have to register them anywhere, or wait for RSVPs.” joked Sherlock, loving how John tried not to laugh but did anyway, “I rather like these ancient fashions, I can see why draped outfits were popular for so many centuries, there’s no fittings required at all.” Every outfit was made of simple rectangles of cloth that were tied or draped over each body to suit their needs best. It could be as elegant or as complicated as you wished. “How does it feel John? We’ve married our only child off.”

John laughed again, “Well I didn’t know I was a dad until just now but I’d have to say it felt pretty good today. I kind of liked handing it all over, or getting ready to hand it all over. It made me feel like we’ve made some progress somehow.” The women began to sing and a blushing Aliyah was drawn to her feet to stand next to her new husband who was just as flushed as she was. Both of them were smiling though as they were prodded and cajoled forward, Bacchides taking Aliyah’s hand to lead her to their new dwelling. They stood together at the threshold and crossed it at the same time and everyone broke out into ululating cries of approval as their thin wooden door shut firmly behind them.

Sherlock gave orders for wine to be distributed and after everyone had spent some time visiting the crowd ebbed away and their home quieted once more, “I’m almost afraid to go to bed.” John was dancing Sherlock back toward their room, their moves centuries into the future as they waltzed together, “I don’t want to wake up and find that none of this happened.”

“If we do wake up in 221 B tell me that you love me right away, don’t wait.” John’s eyes were imploring, “Last time was awful. I felt sick. I thought…”

“I thought the same. I will John, I promise.” With plans made and weddings accomplished Sherlock did what he’d always wanted to do now that they finally had some private time. He took John Watson to bed.


	15. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have seen Aliyah safely wed to Bacchides, things are looking up.

That night was not about claims or ritual, it was about love. There in the dim lamplight John and Sherlock began with a kiss, simply two lovers who had never thought to be together finally realizing the next step in a long awaited dream. Greedy as always Sherlock tugged at John’s arms until he was being held firmly by the small man, John’s hands low on Sherlock’s back as they tasted one another gently. They stood in the middle of their room just holding one another and allowing themselves the freedom to openly feel the love they had for one another.

Gentle kisses were matched with equally gentle caresses, two pairs of hands trailing languidly over hip and waist, backs and bottoms until the gentleness ebbed away. Now each tender touch wakened a hunger that had lived for so long unsated, both men finding that he wanted to taste deeper, to feel more and so they divested themselves of their easily discarded clothes, moving themselves one small step at a time until the back of the bed bumped Sherlock’s leg.

Sherlock wanted to keep John close and wrapped his arms covetously around the soldier’s strong shoulders, he felt John suddenly grin against his neck and was a little startled to find he had been hefted right up, John’s small and obviously strong hands spread wide on his bottom before John tipped them both over onto the hard bed. With a small laugh they rolled around nipping and kissing in equal measure as they playfully continued to touch and explore one another.

Sherlock was straddling John’s hips when the smaller man suddenly dug his fingers into Sherlock’s curls. The detective was surprised to find his entire body going limp and he sagged forward, nearly falling onto John as his back arched as he caught himself on his hands to brace himself. Something in the way John had rubbed the tips of his fingers over Sherlock’s scalp exactly right, the way he had tugged at the long coils triggered something delicious within Sherlock and he felt like he was floating on a cloud as endorphins raced to do their duty. John stilled for a moment, his fingers ceasing their movement for only an instant before resuming their already addictively wonderful motions. John spoke, his voice soft but already gravelly with desire, “You like that do you?”

John lay beneath Sherlock and wondered how he’d ever been blessed with the kind of luck that would give him this vision above him. Sherlock was so lean and so pale, his long black hair fanned over his back, falling over his arms in ropey masses and he could not resist taking hold of some of the silky ropes. When Sherlock’s entire body went rigid and then boneless John felt triumphant, allowing himself to rub Sherlock’s head slowly while his lover practically purred like a cat. Deliberately John took a large handful of it to grip the back of Sherlock’s head and tugged. Sherlock’s head went back easily, exposing his long neck more than ever and both men groaned. Eagerly John pulled Sherlock down so he could lavish kisses along it, biting and sucking faint pink marks all over it before taking Sherlock’s mouth once more, the fever of their passion now burning both of them.

Sherlock needed more. The delicious warm sensations that John evoked only made him crave an excess of it. He wanted…no…he _needed_ John to touch him everywhere, needed to touch John in return. It became a struggle as they both tried to kiss each other, the twisting and turning of their bodies more often than not denying them contact until frustration caused John to pin Sherlock to the bed, his hips grinding downward in a desperate bid for more friction where he wanted it most. The lamp they had used previously was still where they had left it so eagerly Sherlock dipped his fingers into it so he could slick both of them together before wrapping his long fingered hand around both their cocks as John moved.

This was brilliant, absolutely brilliant! John was ecstatic already, mere contact with Sherlock was intensely pleasurable. John knew that sex without penetration was quite lovely but never had he experienced the sheer heat of raw desire like this, as if every second their flesh met only increased the level of pleasure he was able to endure. John watched how he slid through Sherlock’s fingers perfectly, felt the delicately sensitive membrane of their foreskins pass against the other to cause increasingly delicious shocks of stunning sensation.

Somehow their passion slowed and became hot, burning deeper as their bodies barely moved, their hips pushing together slowly, their cocks rubbing back and forth as John kissed his way over Sherlock’s face, “Roll.” Was all he said and then they did. Now that Sherlock was on top he knelt with one knee beside John’s hip and began to rub and twist. For both men the sensations built quickly, at some point John’s hand joined Sherlock’s as they pulled and slid together, their mouths meeting for kisses as often as possible but there was so much skin to worship, so much to explore, so much to share that they could not stop. In the end Sherlock was rocking fast and steady, one hand braced beside John’s shoulder. Sherlock wanted it to last, wanted to draw it out but his inexperience worked against him and he did not possess the control he needed to hold back. With a desperate moan Sherlock rode as fast as he could, needing the increase of friction and pressure. John understood and tightened his grip, both of them panting loudly as their bodies strove together.

John absolutely loved this. He loved how Sherlock’s long hair fell down around them like a veil. He loved the smell of their bodies together, the heat of it, the sweaty slick of it. He loved the look on Sherlock’s face, that unguarded and unfeigned expression of bliss as his lover hid nothing from him. There was no artifice here, there was only the true pleasure that Sherlock seemed to be feeling. He’d teach Sherlock all the different ways there were to make love, given time they would experience everything together, but for now he let Sherlock take his pleasure at his own pace, understanding that he was learning still, he barely understood the messages his body was giving him and it was so beautiful to watch the rapture spread across his marvelous face, to hear the ecstatic cries that fell from his cupid-bow lips. The added heat and slick between them was all the catalyst John needed to fall into bliss himself, the pulse and shocks of it intense enough to make him shake and groan almost painfully.

They lay side by side, eyes closed as they caught their breath and enjoyed the last lovely remnants of their orgasm. When they had recuperated a bit Sherlock raised his tired head and glanced around. During the day someone had tucked a tall narrow urn inside a wide shallow basin into the far corner of the room. Sherlock rose and fetched up, placing it on their small table. There was a piece of linen inside the bowl and the urn was full of cool clean water. Carefully he washed John and then himself, lost in thought as he considered everything they needed to do. Sitting on the edge of the bed Sherlock felt John curl up against him and automatically sought the comfort of John’s warm body. He was a little concerned that they would wake back in London, somehow reluctant to quit this place until he’d done everything he’d plan to prepare and protect it. John stroked his hand as Sherlock shifted to spoon himself up to the soldier’s back, “Put it aside for now love, you’ll think better for some sleep.”

John was right. Sherlock was tired, there had been too many extreme changes and revelations in the last few days, he needed time to let it all settle and sort itself in his mind palace but _time_ he feared was not their friend. Almost against his will his eyes closed as his face pressed to the back of John’s head. Gratefully he allowed himself to soak in John’s steady presence, the stillness of his lover the pool of tranquility he needed to calm and relax.

John was completely content, life was at its absolute best as far as he was concerned. He was full, sated in every possible way, right next to the person he loved who knew that John loved him, and things could not be better. He smiled as he watched Sherlock’s brain shift smoothly into processing mode. John wondered if he was in there somewhere but wouldn’t have been surprised or offended if he wasn’t. How Sherlock thought was one of the first things that had knocked John right off balance, the delight he’d felt the very first time Sherlock had amazed him just as powerful now as it had been the first time he’d witnessed it. They had goals in this time, Sherlock would waste no opportunity to begin. When the tall man simply snuggled up behind him John thought he would die of happiness. This was exactly what he wanted, just to be near Sherlock somehow, this was more than he’d ever hoped for. When he felt Sherlock drift off only a few minutes later John closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep, unconcerned where or when they woke because he knew they’d be together.

Both of them were relieved to be wakened by Lydia who brought their morning tray herself and had someone whisk away the basin and urn from the night before. Ruthlessly she chivvied them out of bed to quickly dress and eat before heading to the baths. There was much to do and with her usual efficiency Lydia had helped plan their day, “Zoa is leaving soon so Master Ioannes must speak to him, he could be gone for some weeks so if you anything more you need him to do you must let him know now.”

Sherlock was once again acutely aware of his lack of mobile usage and missed the easy access it had granted him. When they made it back to their London properly Sherlock would never take the luxury of technology for granted again. If only they had some way of sending Zoa a message while he was traveling! He was walking most of the way for the most part, bits of the journeys he would make would be on watercraft but the vast majority of traveling was done on foot. They couldn’t even give him a horse to ride, even if they did own one. Horses were still considered to be too valuable for common use, Zoa would stand out and be noticed by absolutely everyone he passed. That was the last thing they wanted. One foot with his small retinue of assistants he would blend in with every other trader and traveler who also travelled on foot. They would carry on their backs all they would need.

Sherlock spoke seriously to the tall man, “Do not stint, order what you feel is needful for what we must do. You understand the supplies you require, order what you must from whom you must. Have we given you sufficient payment?”

Zoa examined the small safe-box and swallowed hard. John had given him an excess of gold and silver. He had enough treasure on him to set himself up comfortably for life nearly anywhere, “More than enough my lord, I will not fail.” Sherlock wasn’t worried about Zoa running off. He had a good and honorable life here, a chance to settle in properly and live as a free man. Even if he could figure out where he’d been taken from as an infant he would not know anything about his people. The scars on his body had been given to him as a rite of passage in a different faraway land, a rite his then-master had agreed to and that Zoa had silently endured. With them Zoa had a chance for something he would not get anywhere else, he would come back.

John fussed over everyone, making sure that good sturdy cloaks were given to each member of the departing group, and that everyone had good sandals on, and that their food bags were as full as they could be, as were their water bags. All the youths looked determined, clutching their tall walking staffs with nervous fingers, and attempting to look like leaving home was nothing special. For all of them this would be an experience of a lifetime. Clasping forearms with Zoa John saw the travelers off as they followed a narrow trail that quickly disappeared into the forest. The first phase of the plan was engaged but there was still much to do.

Providing protective clothing for everyone was going to be difficult with the resources that were available. All of it would have to be made by hand and all of the materials they needed to use had to be gathered and prepared in advance. Sherlock sat John down and asked him several detailed questions, adding to the information he already possessed before saying, “I need to think.” Sitting cross-legged on their bed Sherlock assumed his regular thinking pose, closed his eyes, and lost himself in the task of weighing options.

Leather was the easiest but obtaining it was not. These were not pastoral people. Some kept goats but only a few. Food animals were raised to be exactly that, in their entirety. No part of them would be wasted or build up an excess. There were deer in the forest but no one would condone wholesale slaughter just to get leather and deer hide was too thin to be effective at any rate. To outfit everyone they’d need to reach beyond their personal borders to obtain what they needed and he just wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Merely purchasing spices for chai had put them in danger, what kind of flags would be thrown up in the minds of their enemies if they were seen visibly girding themselves for war? Sherlock bent his mind to the task again.

He considered all the images John had found during their searches and the artefacts displayed therein. _Those_ materials were obtainable in smaller more subtle amounts, especially if they sourced them from several locations. Nodding to himself he made several notes on points that needed clarification and opened his eyes. John was sitting right in front of him and he was staring right at Sherlock.

John loved it when Sherlock got like this. Sometimes John fancied he could feel the information simply churning around Sherlock’s head as he nudged and prodded it until it formed a clear picture, complete in every detail. It had always amazed him and now was no exception. This time though John felt no need to hide how it made him feel so he enjoyed the view of Sherlock’s body in a state of near complete stillness while his mind was put to task. Sherlock blinked a single time and began to speak, “We need an inoffensive reason to purchase supplies that will allow us to garner what we like without suspicion. We need to craft leather armor for those who will need it but in order to obtain the materials we need we will require trades to be made over a broad area, people will notice. I propose a fashion trend in travel bags for our sale goods. They’re commonly made of leather, we can decorate them with dyed threads and shells from our coastlines, and we have an unthreatening reason to being bringing in vast quantities of hides of any description. Of course, if the usefulness of the bags are noticed then we have also created a financial increase for the region.”

John was now the one who blinked in surprise. It was an incredibly elegant solution! Their people already sold rare and hard to obtain dyes and colored fabrics in the markets, the better weavers made much sought after thread and Zoa had been working on making pins, another hard to find commodity. “What other raw materials do you want?”

They launched into a large discussion of what they needed. Lydia interrupted them with a mid-day meal but otherwise left them to work in their room. Part-way through the afternoon Dorus came to fetch John, it was time to train the young girls to fight and Sherlock had lessons with Lydia, “I didn’t think you were actually going to go through with those lessons.” John looked surprised when Sherlock simply sighed and stood up, “You’re going to work in the kitchens?”

“Information is always useful John and I have questions regarding the herb gardens as well as wild-crafting in the forests. The more we know about the world around us will help us determine what our strengths and weaknesses might possibly be. Have a good afternoon John, you will do well.” Sherlock gave his husband a perfunctory kiss on the mouth and walked swiftly away, quickly tidying his hair and chiton as he left.

Ruefully John followed Dorus to the outer courtyard where a small and timid looking group of young ladies were waiting for him. He would have liked to spend more time with Sherlock but their duties called to them so John straightened his shoulders and gave them all a welcoming smile. They giggled a bit and shuffled nervously, and without Zoa and Bacchides, John was uncertain where to begin.

Unlike the boys the girls didn’t just attack. They stood there waiting politely. To his surprise Aliyah appeared, dressed as she always dressed except now she wore a length of rich cloth over her long hair, pinned into place with some of the hair pieces given to her by John and Sherlock. She picked up a long wooden staff and took her place in line with all the rest of the girls. John relaxed, this would be fine. The girls lacked the confidence the boys had but that was nothing John couldn’t overcome. He was small compared to many soldiers but he’d overcome that minor disadvantage by exercising other natural talents to offset it. These girls were relatively untaught but they were all energetic and interested in learning. He began with simple moves to gauge what they’d learned so far and progressed to more complex moves as the afternoon wore on. Aliyah was a keen student, her grace and balance of great use to her and with her help John corrected the girls’ stance and helped them learn how to use their entire bodies to fight. The girls were clearly much less practiced than the boys had been but they had all the same potential so John assessed them carefully and soon was confidently leading them through a series of steps and exercises that would give them the basic strengths and skills they would need to advance quickly.

It was hot in the kitchens but Sherlock made himself ignore the discomfort as he lost himself in a detailed discussion with Lydia and the other kitchen staff about the people that lived around them and all the various skills at their disposal. Suddenly it became very important for him to understand the needs of the people and nothing was more important than feeding them. People could live without a lot of things but food was not one of them. Even Lydia was surprised though at the intensity of his questioning, answering him as fully as she could.

Sherlock listened intently as she described the staples that made up their daily life, the grain storage, the gardens, the fishing, the few fields, and the wild game. The seasonings they used were unusually complex, their unique geographic position giving them access to far more diversity than might otherwise be possible. Lydia had grown up in the region and knew much about food and how to get it. “We gather what the gods provide, there is no need to grow excess.” A handful of people cared for domestic animals, a few goats, some small flocks of sheep, and pigs. Many homes kept poultry of assorted species but beyond that there was no complex farming. He went on to grill her about the small industries in the region, specifically the dyes. Now Lydia was the one sweating as his questions grew faster and more detailed as he plumbed her expertise as much as he was able to in a single session. Sherlock realized he needed to speak to more than just Lydia so together they sought out John.

John was breathing hard as he fought against Aliyah. He was enjoying himself and so was she. Her hard-earned grace and strength had made the lessons with John succeed with her, she excelled in front of the other girls, but at the same time gave the young girls praise and encouragement to keep trying and to believe in their strengths. Sherlock showed up just as John managed to disarm Aliyah, it had been a close fight and both of them were smiling. “Amazing Aliyah! Well fought, very well fought indeed. Concentrate on your grip for next session and ladies, see if your parents will let you sign up for dance lessons with Lady Aliyah. There are a lot of good moves that will be easier with her help, don’t worry, we’ll get the boys to dance too.” That comment got a lot of relieved and happy smiles. Some of the girls had obviously been shy about attending but everyone was encouraged and most parents had sent their children along in turn. As soon as the girls filed away John turned with a huge smile on his face, “Hi love. I missed you.”

It was ridiculous to have a surge of happy warmth rush through him at this simple greeting but that didn’t stop it from happening and a pleased smile spread across Sherlock’s face which in turn seemed to delight John even further. Lydia diplomatically remained silent, her face mostly expressionless but she still managed to look discretely fond as John came over to claim a hello kiss. “The girls are done beating the tar out of me for today. Once they warmed up they didn’t hold back. Don’t tell me smaller people aren’t tough!” John rubbed his arms with only a tiny amount of exaggeration. Bacchides appeared as if by magic to greet his wife with a demure but very pleased kiss, the backs of their hands pressing together as they stood side by side to listen to Sherlock’s questions.

Lydia withdrew long enough to organize a meal to be brought as everyone adjourned to the table to discuss the strengths and weaknesses of their region. When Lydia reappeared Sherlock asked her to dine with them in order to hear her contribution to their list of assets and drawbacks. Bacchides added his knowledge of the local terrain, much of which was very familiar to John and Sherlock after all this time. It worked for and against them, the long rolling valleys that lead toward the more mountainous interior making their verdant farmlands possible but also made defending their territory tricky. It provided them easy access to the sea but difficult entry for any sea-born attack. There were pros and cons and the only way to overcome their handicaps was to increase their knowledge in as many areas as possible.

Thus began the busiest of days. Each day Sherlock and John worked with the people, getting acquainted with each one of them all over again. Each night they worried about returning to London before they were ready but it failed to happen. Day after day they remained in their ancient home growing more and more comfortable in their role as lovers as well as friends. They didn’t have as many opportunities to make love as they might have wished, exhaustion often taking precedent over physical intimacy but since the both of them had lived without it for so long they were content with what time they did manage with one another. It more than enough, it was more than they’d ever hope to get and neither of them forgot to appreciate that fact. Still they worked together seamlessly on all things, both men understanding the other very well, and the people approved at the obvious harmony between them. Lady Olivia received many gifts of thanks, and John received more and more assurances of loyalty, even from people who lived on the very outer edge of their demesne. It was all a good beginning.

 


	16. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have settled into their ancient home and have resolved to help the people around them. They've come up with some ideas to make their people safer.

For those who actually want to see where the coin came from go [here](https://www.numisbids.com/n.php?p=sale&sid=292&cid=&pg=2&search=)

Sherlock practiced his disguise until it was flawless, going around with John on occasion but always wearing a sheer veil, an eastern tradition that Sherlock had apparently adopted right after they’d arrived the first time, and a fashion of which all the locals found very appropriate in an oracle who ought to be mysterious. The only time he went uncovered was when he was within their home and immediate property. Their lands spread out around them and there was no one close by to accidentally come upon him unveiled but paranoia gripped him and Sherlock took to wearing a veil around his neck, much the way he used to wear his scarf, the veil now at the ready to obscure his face should one of the occasional visiting traders came around unexpectedly. He went so far as to practice his gait, working with Aliyah until he could approximate the way a woman walked to some degree.

Sherlock began taking Aliyah with him when John took him to help someone with their issues, and when she had something to add to Sherlock always listened. John was impressed at the effect it had on the people. They all began to refer to the dancer as _Lady Aliyah_ , acknowledging her unofficial title. “I’m not being altruistic John. This is a numbers game, and we don’t have many. We can’t afford to exclude a potential defender because they’re a woman, or technically a foreigner. We need every able bodied person in this entire region to be ready to mobilize quickly. If we do not wake _here_ Bacchides and Aliyah must lead, the people must be willing to follow.” The possibility of waking in London troubled them still, it could happen, they had no way of knowing when or why it would occur. They wore their armbands still, never taking them off, not even for a moment. Sherlock had spent a little of his free time sorting through the objects they’d been found with but apart from being valuable and beautiful they didn’t seem to possess any clues that made any sense to him. They were growing used to being there, barely noticing the once-strangeness of their situation, John was as accustom to wearing his kilt as Sherlock was to wearing his chiton, both men finding the other’s new, or rather old, fashions to be very pleasing to view.

It was late in the day when Zoa returned weeks later with a much larger retinue of made of new sturdy lads who carried several wooden chests filled with his purchases. The youths that had traveled with the tall man were laden with goods, all looking worn and tired but a little wiser for having expanded their horizons. There were new girls as well, all as heavily laden as anyone else, their large packs filled with strange bundles and packages. Families happily reunited and the estate hosted a large banquet to welcome everyone home. The staff from the estate swarmed in and helped the newcomers remove their packs and gave them welcome, offering food and drink and a chance to go through the baths when they were ready. Zoa approached and John nodded toward the additions, “Who are they?”

Zoa bowed low but stood tall again and also nodded toward the group who stay huddled together as they were offered spiced wine and bread, “Some are children of the miners we did business with, some are children of different craftsmen. All the families had more children than they knew what to do with but at least all of them are skilled. They were sent here in hopes that you would allow them to practice their crafts despite the fact that many would not be allowed to do so in their homelands.”

John frowned, “What do you mean?” They were young adults by today’s standards, all very different looking from one another but generally all of them were dark of hair, lightly brown of skin, and all of them seemed to have brown eyes. Clearly they came from different places and John wondered where Zoa had collected such a variety from.

Sherlock was looking at the gathering, “He means some of the girls know things that only men traditionally are taught, and some of the boys know things that traditionally the girls are only taught but they’re all good at those things and want a chance to do them without censure.”

“How did you gather these children Zoa?” John was looking back and forth between the youths and the tall man who stood calmly in front of them. John pointed toward the table, “Let’s relax at least, come on Zoa, join us for a meal. It looks like Lydia is in the middle of adopting all of them.”

Indeed she seemed to be doing exactly that. The motherly woman was almost clucking over her new charges, sending helpers to fetch this and that as she looked over their walk-worn feet and old clothing. Servants brought back tray after tray of food to offer them and they all looked a bit stunned at the largesse. “Mistress Lydia is a good woman. You are good men. My apprentices told stories to those they met along the way, simply talking in marketplaces as children do. They meant no harm but one family after another has learned that _here_ you treat all as equals, and that _here_ perhaps there is a chance.”

“A chance for what?” asked John, a little uncertain as to what sort of chances they might be able to offer anyone.

“Simply a chance Master Ioannes. Their lives have certainty where they come from. They will certainly be unhappy. They will certainly be unvalued. They will certainly gain no status in their lives. Here at least they will have a chance of something else. I could not refuse. In return each family promised to send information or custom our way if opportunities for such ever happen. That means we now have contacts in all the cities I have visited.”

John blinked. “These people just gave us one of their kids and promised to advertise our goods?”

Now Zoa blinked, “That’s not quite how they see it Master Ioannes but I suppose yes.”

Sherlock noted something that needed further explaining, “What do you mean when you say _they will gain no status?_ ” Status was important in this ancient world. Your value as a person was a currency that was earned throughout your life and it could be degraded so easily. They’d given Aliyah a huge helping hand but she had value all on her own through her skills.

Zoa glanced over at the group, “The girl with the short cloak. She is the youngest daughter of the youngest daughter of an herbalist. Her mother is esteemed but even with the skills the girl has learned her people will never value her talents. They will turn to her brothers and sisters long before they ask of her. She is unwanted but still useful. Her parents love her but they can find no match for her, no family wants to wed their son to a girl who has nothing. This is the best chance she has, she has skills we can use and we have room to keep her.” Zoa looked again, “The boy beside her is a weaver but in his village, only women weave. He makes fine carpets and cloth. He brought some small things to show you.”

One at a time Zoa explained the children. There were nine in all, all of them with different stories but all with the same need. They needed someplace to be needed. Zoa finished by indicating a small calm looking girl who was eating neatly as she sat on the tiles with all the rest of the group, “The last girl wants to help people, like you Master Ioannes. She wants to learn healing.”

“Can’t women be healers here?” John was certain that history was filled with female healers of all sorts.

“Of course they can but she wants to learn to heal as you do, without the gods.” Zoa explained patiently.

“What do you mean?” John was confused for only a moment before he remembered.

Sherlock explained anyway, “He means your refusal to sacrifice animals to help your patients regain their health and your continued insistence on cleanliness during minor surgery. Apparently _not_ killing a chicken in honor of the household gods before you reset someone’s broken bone is _avant guarde_ in this time.”

John stifled a laugh because Sherlock had not been joking. Zoa looked back and forth between them and said, “You know of herbs and medicines the way no other does Master Ioannes. The Lady Olivia has helped you make many strong potions that have brought ease to the suffering. Will you keep these children and allow them to flourish?”

What could John say? “Yes of course we’ll keep them. We’ll have to figure out how to room everyone and so forth but of course.”

Zoa sighed with relief, “Good.” How could they turn anyone away? Zoa himself was a misfit, he had no place in the world but here.

John realize that their lands were quickly becoming a haven for people who had no place anywhere else to belong. He looked up at Sherlock who most certainly fit that category no matter what time period they were in and suddenly he was fiercely glad that they had safety to offer, food to share, and space to house those that needed it, “We’ll take in anyone who wants to live here.” Their territory went on for many miles in all directions, there weren’t many people in this time and they all lived in small little family groups dotted here and there along the landscape. Most of the land was pristine, there were plenty of spaces that could be comfortably utilized to encourage crafts of all sorts. John made a note to discuss that idea with Sherlock later.

“I’ve put some thought into beginning a school.” announced Sherlock suddenly, “It seems to me that a central location for scholastic pursuits would be of benefit. There are many poets and philosophers that wander, perhaps we can attract some and encourage them to linger long enough to impart some of their teachings to those who might be interested.” They’d also be the ones who carried the kinds of news that traders weren’t interested in.

“Offer a free meal and some wine and you’ll have all the philosophers you can manage.” said Lydia tartly. All her new charges were just finishing their meals and being led away to the baths, “We’ll need to set up mats for them to sleep on here in the inner courtyard just for tonight. We can sort out a better long term situation tomorrow.” She looked at John, “Master Ioannes, one of the girls needs your attention.” Lydia looked serious.

“Of course, excuse me.” John rose from the table but Sherlock rose with him, “Zoa, eat your fill. We’ll talk more after you’ve cleaned up and rested.” The dark man nodded and went back to eating his stew. Sherlock stayed behind John as they approached the group. A small thin girl was standing nervously off to one side. She had long hair that was queued into a complex braid and there was a swatch of fabric tied to the end. She was dark of skin, her eyes large and worried looking. John motioned her to follow them.

When they were out of earshot Lydia spoke. “Master Ioannes this is Tali. Tali, this is Master Ioannes and his wife the Lady Olivia. This is their home. Master Ioannes is a great healer. You can tell him.”

She didn’t need to. As small and slight as she was it didn’t take much for John to realize that she was with child. He looked at her closely. She was young to be a mother but not an unreasonable age, not in this era at any rate but if there was some kind of issue he needed to know about it, “Are you experiencing any discomfort?” he asked softly. She looked strong and healthy but John had no idea how long she had been travelling with Zoa. He would need to check all the newcomers over tomorrow.

The girl looked startled, her hand curving over her belly for an instant before falling away. She didn’t want to tell him anything but Sherlock simply said, “John knows you are pregnant but not that you aren’t married. This was why your family needed you to leave, this pregnancy causes them shame. You are unwed. Having a child without a husband is something you cannot hide, you would be outcast. Your clothes are made of wool, the fabric is rough in parts, you wove it yourself, possibly harvested the wool yourself. Your hands and feet are rough from walking but it’s a lifetime’s worth not just this one trip. Your skin is smooth despite that, you have access to something to keep them that way. _Lanolin_. You are a shepherdess, you were attacked while minding your family’s flocks and even though it is not your fault you are stigmatized for the result, the child.”

The girl’s mouth fell open and she gasped in shock. Lydia hurriedly went to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Lady Olivia is an _oracle_. The gods allow her to see much of what is hidden.”

Tali swallowed hard and nodded, her large brown eyes filling with tears, “Two men came from the north, one was dark and the other was fair but they wore cloaks of fur. They…” she stopped talking and spread her hands over her belly, “No one at home knows except my parents. If anyone knew I would be put to death.”

John was livid. The poor child had been _molested_ and now faced a lifetime of accusation for it? He was filled with such anger that his fingers curled into fists before he realized he would accidentally intimidate the girl. John smoothed his anger away and spoke gently, “You have nothing to worry about here Tali. We will find a place for you and your child. It will be well.” She and her child could live here for the rest of their days if John had anything to say about it!

Sherlock was thinking swiftly. _Parents had simply handed their children over to Zoa who was merely passing through at the mere hint that they might have a shot at a better life. What would happen if they made it known that they were willing to take in whoever needed it?_ He swiftly went over the information about Ionia he had gathered in their one brief chance to research. It had been known for remaining on the outskirts of great civilizations, falling through the cracks as it were, close enough to reap the benefits of that greatness but not to be taken down when they fell. Great thinkers came from places like Ionia, places where many ideas could meet, even by happenstance. What would happen if they created a place where exactly that sort of thing could happen? They needed housing for such a thing to happen but there were all sorts of locations that could be used. Mentally Sherlock made a note to ask John about building homes for the people to use.

They went to meet the other newcomers and John saw them all as young children though none of them could have been younger than fourteen, all of marriageable age, all of them with nothing but hope and what they carried on their backs. “Hello, I’m Ioannes. This is Olivia. Welcome to our home. I know normally we would have let you wash first but everyone looked a bit hungry.” There was a nervous wave of smiles and soft laughter. John smiled back and continued, “I just wanted to meet you before you go to the baths, I’m sure you’ll all be fast asleep as soon as Zakiyah is done with you. I just wanted to tell you to relax, rest easy, and know you are safe here.”

Sherlock was very concerned about the welfare of those who had suddenly been entrusted to them. All too clearly did he understand the difficulties involved with being ostracized, being an outcast, of always being on the outside. These children didn’t deserve to be treated like that. At least Sherlock had been sheltered by his family, coldly and impersonally yes, but Sherlock hadn’t really suffered for his differences until he was old enough to really understand how little he had in common with those around him. There were so few who had even tried to understand him, and even less who accepted him. John was the only one who had ever simply come into Sherlock’s life and fit there like he was made for Sherlock, all their differences and similarities meshing and nestling next to one another in easy synchronicity. What about these children? The only shelter they had ever known had offered them to the fates and prayed that there was something someone could do for them that they simply could not. “You will never have anything to fear while you are with us. Take your ease and if you need anything at all simply ask someone and you will be provided for. You must be weary from your long journey so go enjoy the baths, sleep as long as you need to, and after you have broken your fast we will speak further.”

With a nod at Portis and Kata who waited by the doorway John allowed the weary travellers to leave. Zakiyah and Lydia would make sure everyone had clean things to wear and someplace warm to sleep. Taking Sherlock by the hand John led his lover back to their room, suddenly he felt the need to have a private moment with him. As soon as their door shut John pulled Sherlock close and just held him. He was grateful that Sherlock let him do this, there were moments when John felt like this, like he needed to reach out and embrace his mate and just be close to him and Sherlock never protested. Like always his long arms wrapped around John as Sherlock held him in return, resting his head on top of John’s and allowing the soldier to comfort himself. After a long time John spoke, “ _They’re just kids_. If we were in London most of them would still be in school _fuck_ most of them wouldn’t even be old enough for part-time jobs but look at them. All of them are ready to pick up new lives with skills that have taken them their entire lives to earn. They have nothing and no one. If we don’t take them in what happens to them? Do they just wander around hoping someone will take pity on them before someone else takes advantage of them? This world is so fucking cruel Sherlock! It’s so unfair all the time and things are so hard. How can we say no to them?”

“We won’t John, of course we won’t. We have a lot of things to share and share them we will. We will make places for them to fit into. We’ll need to think of something for Tali but everyone else will be able to find someone to work with. We have need for all their skills.” Minecraft, textiles, wild-craft, dance, and even a young girl who looked to be far west of her lands of origin who said she knew old ways of fighting, all of them might have had no worth where they came from but to John and Sherlock each one of them was a valuable new resource. Sherlock resolved to nurture these young minds, to teach them new ways of thinking and seeing that would help them with their lives no matter what. In this place their diversity would be their strength.

“Well at least you haven’t finalized the plans for the new kitchen yet. Looks like you might need to consider expanding it already.” teased John. Already he was feeling centered. There was something about being pressed up next to Sherlock’s long lean body that always seemed to reset John internally and he craved it.

“I suppose.” Sherlock and Lydia had several ideas and John had already several times accused them of simply enjoying arguing with one another as they tried to come up with a design that pleased them both and satisfied the demands that would eventually be placed upon their estate. “Lydia wins the concession over the roasting pits, she’ll be pleased about that.” The natural space near their home was proscribed by a large cliff from which their waterfall descended, they could expand the kitchen only so far and Sherlock had wanted most of the cooking to be done indoors but Lydia had argued that roasting pits would actually be more efficient since larger portions could be cooked all at once. “Perhaps one of the children will want to learn how to help Bacchides. Aliyah won’t be able to work with him forever, she has duties and responsibilities elsewhere.”

The new couple had many demands on their time. Bacchides still kept the bees and sometimes Sherlock and Aliyah helped him but as they suspected she had gotten pregnant quickly. At some point she would have to leave off if only to tend to their baby as well as her other obligations within the estate. Bacchides needed an assistant. The sale of honey was one of their fundamental sources of income next to dyes and fabrics, a lot of work went into processing their honey and he couldn’t tend all their hives alone. Volunteers came and went but so far no one had demonstrated the sort of interest one would need to make it a lifetime vocation. “We need to build some homes.” they said together and stopped.

“Oh gods, we really are something else.” said John with a laugh. He kissed Sherlock, “I guess you and I don’t need to argue over every little thing.”

Sherlock hummed agreeably, “Not every little thing but I don’t mind arguing with you, not anymore at least.”

“You just like makeup sex.” accused John who pretended to be dismayed but Sherlock’s fond laugh made a smile slip onto his face.

“Well that is an unexpected benefit now but that’s not why I like arguing with you. I like it when you get angry because you stop editing yourself and you say what you truly feel. I don’t mean to imply that you’re untruthful at other times but you do tend to speak in such a way as to not give offense to anyone. That stops when you lose your temper, you really can give a person quite the talking down. It’s refreshing.” Sherlock didn’t enjoy it when John was mad at him, in fact it never stopped producing a feeling of sick dread inside him on the rare occasions it happened but it normally only occurred when Sherlock had done something foolish.

Putting himself at risk in London was one thing but it was a very different situation here so doing things like testing new medicinal compounds on himself without telling John was just one of the many little talks they’d had over the last few weeks. John had often shouted things at Sherlock that had forced him to understand more about how their relationship worked, that it wasn’t just how he felt about John but it was about how John felt about him. John loved him and wanted to keep him safe. The soldier couldn’t be with Sherlock every minute and to have to worry about him the second his back was turned was unfair. John was labouring so hard to protect everyone around them, the very least Sherlock could do was not harm himself when John wasn’t around. John gave a regretful sigh and gave Sherlock a soft kiss, “I never mean to get angry. I get scared and then I lose my temper when I realize that you’re alright _but_ you might not have been. I can’t lose you Sherlock, I just can’t. That would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

There was nothing to say to that sentiment but to promise to try a little harder not to frighten John and to take a moment or two to consider the potential ramifications before he began experimenting. “I will make sure we are together for a very long time John, I swear.” Sherlock gave his husband a warm comforting squeeze, something he’d discovered worked amazingly well on John. Instantly Sherlock felt John almost melt up against him and with another smile he rubbed one hand up and down the warm expanse of John’s strong back. “Since we are in agreement about housing we’d better discuss locations and materials. We have most of what we need on hand but the physical labour requirement might be a bit difficult to arrange.”

“I’m sure everyone around here would be willing to donate some of their time to help out. Remember when we caught Mycroft watching that musical with all those farm boys in it? They were building a barn but the whole community was doing it, it took only a day or two to complete. I mean that was a movie and it would obviously take us longer than that but the principle is sound. We’ll ask around and see who wants to help out.” John wasn’t a bossy sort of Master. He ruled the area mostly by letting people do what they’d done for generations, figuring they probably knew more than he did about farming or animal husbandry. He’d tried fishing with some success, but overall it was his medical knowledge and military prowess that the people respected, not his rural skills.

Sherlock laughed a bit at the reminder. It was one of the many reasons John was his best friend because the soldier had crept up to Mycroft’s private office and caught a precious minute of Mycroft attempting one or two dance moves, a bit of blackmail material that had earned the pair of them several get-out-of-jail-free-with-no-annoying-questions-plus-a-ride-home promises from the elder Holmes before John gave his solemn word not to allow anyone, especially Sherlock, to so much as view it. There was no way John was ever going to delete it and for once Sherlock helped his friend by concealing the video clip in a heavily encrypted file that Mycroft couldn’t access. He didn’t even watch it, just knowing it was there was enough to make him laugh every time he thought on it, “I’m positive everyone would help you if you ask of it.”

Most of their tenants found John and Sherlock to be very frustrating masters in that neither man seemed to need people to bow or in any way show their deference. They didn’t ask for tithes or tax their people in any way at all. John went around on a regular basis visiting everyone to check on health or training or projects or any of the hundred little details he oversaw each day. Their household was self-sustaining, using the profits they earned from the sale of their excess products to continue improving the community and their home in what ways there were currently available. Given a chance to give their lenient and much respected lord a hand would be a very welcome opportunity for many of them who often complained that there was no way to demonstrate their allegiance to Ioannes and Olivia. “Well I don’t want to put anyone out, they can help if they’ve got some free time.”

They’d had their banquet earlier but there were still responsibilities to tend to before they laid their heads down for the night. John kissed Sherlock one more time before helping his lover tidy himself up. They would need to speak with Aliyah and Bacchides about the newcomers and discuss the arrangements that would need to be made to make their ideas happen. Sighing together they left the temporary shelter of their room and went out to meet their commitments once again. Neither man thought about the rumors nor the stories that Zoa and his group had unintentionally spread during their supply trip, nor the impact of their actions would have for their immediate future, they had much to deal with now and all their attentions were with their people. Out in the world words traveled from mouth to mouth as news of their presence began to spread and in one place in particular ears began to listen intently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A technological failure has caused a delay in the next installment in that it apparently no longer exists and I could just cry. Anyway as of today May 4 2015 I swear I am re-writing the next chapter as soon as I can. Stay tuned, more was almost here.


	17. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoa has returned from his travels and has brought with him a whole new group of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been written twice due to a tragic and much moaned about flash-drive failure. I'm horrifically busy these days as well so like always I'm doing my best to write during my spare moments so rest assured that my Johnlock commitment is as strong as ever but unfortunately secondary to my need to human and adult on a daily basis.

The first sign of trouble came many weeks later. The newcomers had all been absorbed into the community with ease, their skills and talents remarked upon proudly. Each new person that Sherlock and John had brought to the area had only enhanced their lives so each new member of Zoa’s group found a temporary home while residences were being built.

Tali was much further along than Aliyah but both women found sharing the experience of their first pregnancies to be comforting and spent much time with one another. They were nearly of the same years, Aliyah being older by some months but both women nearly at the end of their second decade. John had blinked in surprise when he’d learned their ages. To his eyes they were all so very young but in their view all of them were firmly adults and would be seen as such nearly anywhere in the known world. Tali was taken in by Lydia as well and found herself firmly ensconced in the main house where everyone fussed over her. She had duties as did everyone but they were mostly in the kitchen now as she learned directly from her new mistress. Tali’s child was eagerly anticipated and not one person spoke a harsh word to or about her due to the circumstances of its conception. For lands as empty as these each new life was warmly welcomed.

Training sessions were now assisted by a tiny woman named Qi whom John and Sherlock had initially mistaken for a child. She might have been small but she was fast and possessed precision and deadly skills that impressed everyone who witnessed a demonstration she gave. Her slightly tilted eyes and remorselessly black hair told of origins far to the east but of her homelands she spoke very little. They knew that she’d been raised in secret by her only relation, an uncle who lived in the men’s camps. He kept Qi hidden among the boys until she’d finally been discovered and driven out as an aberration. Her tribe possessed strict gender segregation laws regarding occupation and female warriors were entirely unwelcome.

Zoa was being joined by two new apprentices, a boy named Akeila and a slight young woman named Ona. Much like Qi Ona had been raised by the men of her family, blacksmiths and miners mostly. She wanted to be a silversmith but no one would sponsor a woman to do a man’s job so she had resigned herself to a lifetime as her uncle’s perpetual apprentice. When Zoa’s group arrived her uncles agreed that it was better for her to take a chance with Ioannes and Olivia than it was to stagnate forever with them. Akeila was an orphan and his old master had sons of his own to pass his smithy too, once he was gone Akeila would have nothing. He’d gone with Zoa instead.

The youngest of the group was a lithe young lad of nearly fifteen winters who was called Sophus. His people were fierce warriors and fighters but Sophus was a singer and a poet, he wanted to be a temple dancer and moved in the most elegant way but only women danced and sang. The men of his tribe could play music but that was as far as they went. He was as unwelcome in his homeland as Qi was in hers. Aliyah and the musicians who played for her gladly took to the boy, encouraging him to add instruments to his now rapidly growing repertoire of songs.

Nearly as young as Sophus was another willowy but rambunctious boy named Beste. He seemed full of laughter and energy and it was odd to think that the boy wanted nothing more than to sit and weave for as long as there were daylight hours. Sophus had shyly produced three small carpets and a length of decent fabric as well as an assortment of spindles and weights he could use to make his own threads and yarns. Sherlock examined everything closely and quickly realized that the young man had made each piece from carefully scavenged scraps and rag-tag ends probably left on the floor after all else had been bundled for sale. He wondered what a man as obviously talented as Beste could do if he had access to the brilliantly colored and nearly perfectly spun threads made by the much coveted craftsmen of their area.

Two young ladies became John’s apprentices. Both of them were amazed to find that John was perfectly willing to teach them what he considered to be rough field practices but what was to them the most revolutionary healing style ever. Esin the herbalist was joined by Ge who wanted to be a doctor and with Sherlock’s help as well they began to increase their knowledge of medicine. The entire group taught one another what they knew, all of them learning about different techniques for preparing their products, for harvesting or processing their ingredients. Many long walks to gather supplies became learning adventures that attracted more and more people. Sherlock was more than happy to figure out new ways of making powders and tinctures, slowly drawing the useful properties out of plants, fungi, and barks with painstaking care for John to use. Sherlock’s time in the kitchen was impacted too and John began to joke that he was going to need a second kilt if he wasn’t careful of how much he ate even though his lean hard body remained unchanged. Constant sparring and endless manual efforts kept both Sherlock and John at the peak of physical condition.

The last newcomer was a potter by the name of Kimon who made delicate bowls and urns. Lydia was over the moon with the man whom she took under her matronly wing like all the rest but especially because as soon as the youth had access to the one of the nearby kilns he impressed the local potters with the basic skill they’d made him demonstrate before Kimon began to make Lydia an entirely brand new set of custom-made pots to cook in. He even made her heavy round rings that were placed in the hot coals and kept her pots from tipping over. Kimon befriended an older man who was a painter and together they planned many things. Even without colors or scenes painted on Kimon’s vessels were always sturdy, elegant, and very practical.

Despite their new occupations every single person who had a free moment participated in the raising of new homes. The people were relieved that there was finally something they could do to show their gratitude toward Ioannes and Olivia that the people organized themselves into efficient teams that hewed stoned, or flattened the grounds, or did the any of the hundred tasks that needed to be accomplished before the first stone was laid. Sherlock helped plan the overall layout of the buildings but then he stepped back and observed everyone using their ancient skills to erect a series of small and sturdy stone houses with tiled roofs. There was a large central structure as well, the entire new complex well away from their home, set near a variety of natural resources like a fresh-water spring and easy access to the sea. It took a long time even with everyone’s help and the need to tend to their normal lives but by the time Tali was heavy with child the people had completed the small homes and were now working to complete the last of what would eventually become the location for Sherlock’s school, John’s training yard, and Bacchides and Aliyah’s new home where they would eventually take up their duties from John and Sherlock.

One of John’s many responsibilities was to meet with traders to manage sales of products provided by the people. That meant very often having to host strangers to meals or provide overnight accommodations to travelers from afar. One of those nights nearly ended in a fight when a young man from such a group decided that pregnant or not, Tali was a _servant_ and therefore available for his pleasure. It was Dorus who heard her indignant refusal and shouted for John. The slight young man pulled the terror-struck girl out of the guest-room while the nearly naked and slightly intoxicated man was trying to pull her back in. “ _What is going on here?”_ roared John, completely furious as Tali was suddenly released from the man, almost snapping into Dorus’ arms where he held her closely, glaring at the trader angrily.

The man smelled strongly of wine and a hint of something stronger. Sherlock glowered at him from behind his veil and John looked ready to rip the man in two, “Just a bit of a tumble is all! She’s already planted, can’t do any harm. She’s got no husband to object, I asked! _Metin!”_ The man’s master stumbled out of his own room and looked absolutely horrified at what he was seeing and stepped back in disgust when the man said in a wounded voice, as if he were the wronged party, “I asked this time! She has no husband!”

The trader Metin fell to his knees and bowed low to John, “ _Apologies_ Lord Ioannes. This man is not my blood, we have had issues before. He likes to make free with slave-girls and servants when he has had too much to drink. We have traded with you in the past, you know we have always dealt with you honestly. Please, do not punish my people for his transgression.” Turning to the other man the trader hissed, “ _Lonan_ you and your _cock_ have disgraced us for the last time! It doesn’t matter if she has a husband or not! _Unmarried women are not free for the taking!_ There are brothels and prostitutes everywhere but you _persist_ in attempting…that is _it!_ You travel with us no longer. Why would you think than any of a great Lord’s servants would be free to take to your bed…your _guest_ bed! The gods are not merciful to men who abuse the laws of hospitality. I will not risk their anger because you need to sate your lusts.”

A trader’s reputation was his life’s-blood. If you could not trust a trader to bring the goods you asked for or to accept a fair price then you did not do business with them and a trader with no business was a pauper. If a trader was a danger to his customers then he was no longer welcome to trade, he would be harried from land after land if not killed outright. Lonan wasn’t pleased with being denied Tali or by being rejected by the others, “My brother supplies you the iron you trade. Without _me_ you have nothing to profit off of!”

“There are other mines Lonan and other men to make deals with. I do not travel with people who anger the gods, you will not stain our reputation. Take your payment and depart. Your brother will know of this incident from lips that are not yours.” Metin stood again. “He is yours to do with as you will Lord Ioannes.”

John scowled at Metin who shrank back. Tali was still being tightly held by Dorus who had not stopped glaring at Lonan even though he had to crane his neck to do so.  “Leave our lands this minute. You will be escorted to our borders by our people and _you_ Lonan are no longer welcome here. Metin, if you bring another scoundrel to my home I will turn you away as well. I will not tolerate a threat to my people, not to the ones within my household or without.”

Bacchides was there now and Aliyah had arrived to take Tali in her arms. Dorus and the beekeeper joined various others who made sure Lonan left nothing behind and was walked off the estate by a small group of men carrying wooden staves. It would take Lonan more than a day to reach the end of their lands and the entire time he would be followed by an ever changing group of people to make sure he did no harm and took nothing with him. Metin bowed deeply to Sherlock, “Lady Olivia, I beg you to use your gifts upon my people. Prove our good intentions, let the gods see through your eyes and know we mean no harm.”

“You were obligated to bring this man with you as part of your trade were you not? He was to ensure his brother’s profits made it home intact, that was his role? Very well, since you have given him what he was owed in front of witnesses I call our deal done and we will speak no more of it. You have brought trouble to my house Metin when trouble is the last thing I seek. I will have peaceful and respectful dealings here, let it be known.” Sherlock had to keep his hands from reaching out to touch John’s back. He loved it when John got like this, when he lost himself in his role as ruler of these lands. He was commanding and firm, fierce but fair.

Metin knew John was being lenient with him and it showed as relief in his eyes. “His brother has contacts in all the cities we are about to visit, we will tell the truth of the matter, Lonan cannot bring his brother’s wrath your way.”

 John was still very angry and with a great many bows Metin and his group went back to their rooms to try and sleep before they departed in the morning. Everyone else left as well and Sherlock tugged John back to their room. The second the door was closed Sherlock pushed John up against it and kissed him hard. John’s anger was completely gone by the time it ended because Sherlock was now biting at his neck, his hand already between John’s legs and moving back and forth, “You know what it does to me when you get bossy John.”

John was doing his best to distract his lover by returning the caress and was now nibbling his way down Sherlock’s long throat, “That’s not why I did it.”

“I know but still,” Sherlock absolutely loved how perfectly John fit against him and he rutted shamelessly against his husband’s hard belly, his hands now roaming over John’s backside, “You could have absolutely ruined Lonan but you held back. Such control John, such _strength_.”

John almost giggled at the heat in Sherlock’s voice. That a little show of power turned his wildly intelligent lover into this lust crazed creature once again never failed to produce that giddy mix of pride and passion. He loved how easy it was for them to shed their clothing, how delicious it felt when Sherlock kept him pinned to the wall so he could kiss his way down John’s body. John realized what was about to happen and he almost panted out the words, “You don’t have to.”

Sherlock was of a different mind, “Oh I very much do.” John was magnificent and glorious. Sherlock wanted to worship him so he did, falling to his knees and taking John into his mouth. The few times he had tried had often led to finishing in other ways but tonight Sherlock was determined and he proceeded armed with all the knowledge he’d carefully harvested since he and John finally became lovers.

Sherlock began slowly, knowing John loved how it felt to have his flesh drawn slowly through Sherlock’s lips. Sucking gently Sherlock worked back and forth languidly, allowing John to penetrate more deeply each time until Sherlock had slowly managed to push himself down entirely onto John’s cock and held himself there. John’s thighs were quivering beneath his hands and he could hear his lover begin to pant anxiously, his hips trembling as John struggled not to thrust. Sherlock pulled back and breathed through his nose before pushing back down and swallowing one time. John groaned again, his hips flexing and Sherlock nearly gagged. Pulling back gently Sherlock used his hand to stroke carefully while he used his mouth to tease John.

They kept a pot of oil nearby at all times so Sherlock dipped his fingers into it and deliberately spread John wide. Licking his way over John’s testicles Sherlock pressed a single finger over John, massaging in a small circle until John pushed down. Using his other hand to hold John’s cock Sherlock slowly penetrated John while taking his cock back into his mouth, “Gods you’re so good at that!” John’s head was lolling a bit to the side, his eyes dark with passion, his face lax with growing pleasure, “Your hair…can I?”

John shouldn’t even have to ask, they both loved this but Sherlock did his best to nod given that he was very occupied at the moment but John understood. Sherlock’s eyes closed in bliss as John’s warm strong fingers buried themselves deep into Sherlock’s neat curls, pins and ribbon quickly tugged away so the entire mass of it fell down Sherlock’s back. Tangling his hands into it John gripped Sherlock’s head and began to move him. Sherlock absolutely loved the thickness and texture of John’s cock as it pushed slowly into his mouth, loved the way it felt to press his tongue up against the shaft, loved the fat heavy head and the soft delicate foreskin that brushed so tenderly back and forth. Carefully he worked his finger inside John, probing cautiously until he felt his husband jerk once again. _Perfect_.

Target located Sherlock slowly worked a second finger in, loving the slick tightness of it, how hard John gripped at his finger, how he had to work at pleasuring him. The effort was so worth it though, worth hearing those lovely sounds coming from John’s lips, worth feeling that hard flesh begin to thrust harder and faster into his mouth. John kept moving Sherlock’s head to his own rhythm, working himself toward orgasm and Sherlock did his best to keep his hands busy. It seemed to last forever and he never wanted it to end, his own cock was so hard now, waving untended in the air as he devoted all his attention to John. The hands in his hair suddenly pulled him faster and John’s groans became desperate pants. John stopped moving Sherlock and held him still while his hips pumped hard and then a glorious spill of warmth was rushing down his throat and John was moaning in the most beautiful way, his voice broken and shattered as he cried out his pleasure loudly. Sherlock kept moving slowly, carefully pulling his fingers away as John sagged back, his legs shaking more than ever, “That was amazing.” panted John, “Gods, come here.”

John tugged Sherlock to his feet but only to walk him backward to the bed where he made Sherlock lay back, “That was incredible love, gods just look at you.” John’s eyes were bright and happy, his hands clever and fast. Sherlock realized the hand on his cock was slick and that John was shifting forward and that, “John!” Both of them groaned as John sank down onto Sherlock’s cock. He was so tight, so hot and Sherlock had been so very aroused that it took almost nothing at all and only a couple of minutes later he was shouting as loudly as John had as he found his release, John riding over him, working his hips carefully to keep Sherlock’s orgasm going for as long as possible. “You’re beautiful, so beautiful.” murmured John over and over again, “My handsome clever man, my wonderful Sherlock. I love you.”

Sherlock couldn’t move. He lay on the bed with his arms and legs flung in all directions, completely spent. John let him recover his breath before he shifted gingerly away. He hadn’t been prepared nearly enough for what he’d done so after resting for only a minute or two Sherlock got off the bed and brought a lamp closer so he could inspect John who complained, “I feel fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

Sherlock disagreed, “You’re very chafed looking and we need to be careful.” Kissing it better seemed to be the only thing to do so Sherlock did so and John giggled his little embarrassed giggle before admonishing Sherlock who ignored him and went to get a damp flannel to clean them up with. Impromptu bath accomplished Sherlock spooned up behind John and held him tight, “I love you too John.” He could practically feel John smile and it made him feel good. Both of them were tired and very relaxed now, it was easy to let sleep take them.

The next morning Dorus was silent as he brought them their breakfast and helped them get ready for the day. Before they left their rooms he stopped John and said, “I want to marry Tali. She has done nothing wrong but if her babe is born he or she will be a bastard for the rest of their life.”

John looked at the young man who was very serious, “Do you love her?”

Dorus looked up at John, “I’m not sure Master Ioannes. She is a very good person, she tries very hard to see the good in things. My mother was also a good person, but no matter how good she was I will never be anything but a bastard. I would not want Tali to live a life like that. I wish to wed her. I can be a proper husband to her and I will gladly help raise her child, if you will allow it.”

Sherlock looked down at the determined young man, “Have you asked her?”

Dorus shook his head, “I could not offer and then find that you would not permit it. That would be cruel. If you denied my request Tali would never know. The next time someone asks, she can honestly say she is wed. No one need ever know _when_ she got married nor will anyone from outside ever know that her child is not mine.”

John considered Dorus. He was a steady young man, quiet in his ways, but utterly dependable. He was devoted to the care and maintenance of their home, always present, always working, always giving the best effort he could manage. John had not realized the truth of his past, not that it would have altered how they treated him. Dorus was one of many they’d taken in, he was no less worthy than any of them and if Tali agreed, John could see no reason to deny them, “Ask her and let her decide. If she says yes we will happily sponsor your wedding with our full blessings.”

Tali found them a short while after they finished with their morning bath, “Dorus has asked to wed me. He said that he’d asked you first but that I could say no if I wanted to. Is this true?”

Sherlock looked down at her, “Of course you can say no if you wish Tali. You do not need to get married to remain here. If you do not want to marry Dorus you do not have to.”

Tali looked surprised, “I do. I like Dorus. He’s kind and hard-working.”

“Do you love him?” asked John.

Tali looked surprised again, “No, but I don’t need to. I would not have loved a husband my parents might have found for me, at least not at first. Perhaps I will grow to love Dorus but it is enough that I think he is a good person, and I am not afraid of him. He accepts my child and has offered to raise it as his own. This is a very great thing so I will accept.”

Their wedding was even simpler than Aliyah and Bacchides. No status needed to be proven, no families needed to be convinced. Dorus and Tali both only had their masters to represent them but Sherlock and John showered them with useful gifts and furnished the new couple with a small sack of silver coin. Tali’s few things were moved into Dorus’ room and that was it, they were married. The next day Tali began to wear a sumptuous cloth over her hair much like Aliyah did, her pins very simple but clearly she was proud and happy to be safely married at last. Dorus looked fondly proud as well, very protective of his new wife and imminent child.

Far in the distance a bitter voice complained and more and more ears listened as stories of luxurious wealth and beautiful women began to circulate. Rumors of a powerful oracle with far-seeing eyes and a hidden face began to spread, as did the reputation of her fearsome painted husband who wore the souls of his victims on his skin. The voice spoke of a land begging to be taken, fat with farmers and fishermen and barely a warrior in sight, a land where women walked alone and there was absolutely nothing to stop just anyone from taking what they wanted if they were strong enough. The voice spoke and his words began to spread like wildfire.

 


	18. Ablaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have welcomed newcomers to their lands but far in the outer world whispers are growing.

Their warehouses groaned with riches. The olive harvest had gone well and weeks of loving labour had resulted in a stunning excess of precious oil as well as the olives themselves and business was brisk. Traders came and went, longstanding contracts were in place to guarantee their portion of the harvest, but there were new sales as well and John handled all of them. The people knew a good thing when they saw it and by giving their trust to John and allowing him to represent all of them had produced profits never before enjoyed by everyone. John didn’t even want his share though they made him take it. The sale of honey and its by-products as well as the new linens were more than enough to keep Sherlock and John wealthy but the people insisted on at least a small bit of their good fortune be returned to their lord. Everyone had something to offer and only the expert organizational skills of people like Lydia helped John keep it all straight.

Sherlock was on hand for the trades. He and John were part and parcel, always united and it was clear they made outsiders nervous but that was to their advantage. John had already developed a reputation for his integrity as well as his lethal prowess and there were more than a few rumours about Lady Olivia’s remarkable skills beyond those of being an oracle. No one wanted to test the veracity of those tales and remained polite as well as almost painfully honest. The truth of Lonan’s assault was known and not another trader allowed his people to be anything but on their absolute best behavior while they stayed as guests and Sherlock was pleased at how his John was shown respect.  To reward their guests for their troubles Sherlock often spoke with the people and sorted out little problems that had grown, often due to the fact that deals were made in many languages and misunderstandings happened. His word was final so after the harvest sales were mostly accomplished they began a new unexpected trade in consultation. Sherlock was famous.

People began to travel great distances to speak with Lady Olivia, begging her attentions to solve ancient feuds, or to unravel deals that had gone sour. Sherlock was annoyed at first but after several visits had garnered him a wealth of news from around the known world he realized he had something no one else for hundreds of miles had, _current_ _information_.  People had no idea how much he was able to learn about them during a simple conversation, how everything about them spoke volumes to the detective. His great memory was once again being utilized and Sherlock began to love it. He met with anyone who asked for him, demanding their time and stories as part of the gifts they gave to honor his service. Sherlock began to learn about the world around them. He learned who considered themselves influential and who actually had influence. Sherlock asked after the people he learned about and slowly built a mental picture of how the trading world operated, how different city states treated the people from other lands, and how they helped or did not help the people who lived outside their walls.

John offered free medical help to any who arrived in need of it. One of the established bands of traders was an entire family, and with some worry they presented him with a small boy of no more than eight years. He was ill and had been ill for some weeks. They begged John to help him and fell to their knees in front of Sherlock to pray for his intervention, “I am not divine. I am very mortal as is John, do not pray to us. John is however the very best chance your son has. If anyone can help it will be my husband.” Sherlock spoke with utter conviction and the family was comforted.

John took the boy to the rooms that had become his clinic. A consultation with Ge and Esin confirmed John’s suspicions, a suspicion he verified by doing a simple series of checks and examinations on the boy in front of the eyes of his frightened parents. He stood back and spoke with the ladies who soon set to mixing various compounds together, “He has a parasite. We have a drink that we are going to give him. It will cleanse the parasite away but your son will be weak for several days. He gets one drink first thing in the morning for five days straight. When he’s hungry feed him simple foods, something you would feed a very small child and nothing but plain water. He’ll be fine and once the potion is finished he should be as good as new.” They didn’t really understand the illness but they accepted the flask of liquid that Ge presented them and carried their boy away to the rooms furnished them for their stay. John was allowing their entire group to remain so he could keep checking on the boy’s progress.

Their gratitude at the child’s recovery, his miraculous recovery in their eyes, was great. The child was the first born of their newest generation, the de facto heir to their ancient business. Children were precious, so few made it beyond their beginnings, and even less made it to adulthood. They thanked John and Sherlock profusely and swore themselves as friends. If Ioannes or Olivia ever needed help, they need only ask and it would be given.

Thus their own sphere of influence expanded and grew stronger. Each person they helped was amazed and astounded at the overwhelming generosity they were shown. John never charged for his assistance, he wanted to help and he had the means to do so. He took in anyone, it never occurred to John to discriminate and so they made more friends of every manner of people from everywhere. If someone needed medical attention then he was a doctor and he would do his duty. That was it. John could not save everyone but he could at least bring comfort to their final hours with a drink that Sherlock had produced. It made the person feel relaxed and without pain, cleared their head of the woes they’d experienced and gave them a chance to speak with those dearest to them before they passed. It grieved John to see a soul slip through his fingers and the people were moved by the greatness of his heart. More and more people began to journey to their lands and eventually John and Sherlock needed to cause a new set of buildings to be erected to house their ever-changing guests. Their consideration only added to their rapidly growing fame and their praises were being sung along every route taken by traders for long miles in every direction.

As busy as they were neither man forgot their goals and instituted regular practice times with various groups of their people. Qi had advanced the training of several students and with their help they spread out to continue drilling the basics into everyone, men and women alike. Zoa and his ever-growing flock of assistants worked the smith endlessly to produce baskets of small metal items. Sherlock’s trades had garnered the blacksmith all the raw material he needed to complete his part of their defense plan and for months he had been issuing out one completed article at a time.

Lonan’s complaints made their way back to them and John was temporarily livid. Traders assured him that the stories had only wounded Lonan and his brother whose business had begun to fail magnificently. Rare as mined ores were no one wanted to do business with someone who had not only broken guest-laws but was attempting to anger powerful people who were so _clearly_ in direct contact with the gods! When asked John had simply said, “I no longer do business with them.” His plain response had more of an impact than the soldier realized. If he didn’t want to do business with a particular source then his friends weren’t interested in doing business with that source either and John had many friends now. Lonan’s brother began to lose one contract after another to other mines and he wasn’t getting new ones. Bitterly he chastised his brother for bringing celestial wrath their way but the damage had already been done and their name may as well have been dust for all the mind anyone paid it.

Back at the estate Tali was eventually delivered of a lovely baby boy with dark eyes and hair the color of wheat. Dorus was the most doting father around, spoiling his wife and child with little treats he got Lydia to make them, tiny wooden toys he’d carved himself, and even got Zoa to make the baby a small set of metal bells to amuse him. They named him Kuzma. John was helpless to resist Kuzma’s infant charms and with laughter Tali indulged the soldier, referring to John as “uncle” which tickled the doctor no end and always brought a fond smile to Sherlock’s face.

Two months later a heavily pregnant Aliyah finally went into labour and provided her husband with his first son, a dark haired and perfectly healthy boy they lovingly named Tarik. John and Sherlock celebrated even more vigorously than when Kuzma was born, everyone officially acknowledging the pair as Tarik’s grandparents. In his spare moments Sherlock could be found with his friend Aliyah, cuddling Tarik, discussing all the changes Aliyah and Tali had gone through to produce their children, and generally poking his nose everywhere no man would ever be normally allowed to. It was beneficial as well because long afternoons spent in the baths with the other women garnered Sherlock even more sources of information, often much more reliable than what John was officially told during his meetings because Sherlock was lounging with their wives and daughters, maidservants, and others. He heard all the gossip and all the complaints, each new piece of information was delivered to his husband who began to grow a reputation as large as Sherlock’s for being able to see the truth of the matter.

It nearly the end of the mild winter and almost full spring again when news began to reach them, all from the north. Lonan and his brother Dand had found new customers, horsemen in rough clothes who paid in gold for the weapons the brothers were making for them. Whispers circulated that the horsemen were raiders, plunderers and thieves. People grew cautious and kept their eyes and ears sharp for hints of more news. It was hard to come by until some whispers grew in strength and terrible things became known. Far to the north and to the east entire villages were disappearing, burned to the ground, their inhabitants dead or missing and not one word over how it had happened. The city states did nothing, the outer villages were on the wrong side of the city walls to be of concern to the citizens therein. It disgusted John and Sherlock was agitated, “If I could only _see_ what was left!” John understood Sherlock’s frustration but to view the villages would mean weeks of travel to lands they had never visited. It could be done but they would not, they had people here that needed them to remain.

Sherlock began a map. He drew out the continent as he remembered it, astonishing everyone inside the estate with the sheer size of land that they had not known about. On it he delineated regions he and John knew currently existed and from there he began to plot the information he had gathered, “Whoever it is is removing way-stations. Each village that has been destroyed is on a hinge-point of what functions as the trade routes for those regions. Someone could move an entire army through that whole region with no one being the wiser. A brutal but effective tactic.”

John was worried. Sherlock didn’t need to point out the obvious to him this time. There was an invisible mass of warriors coming their way and it was growing larger as it went. The landscape around them was perfectly suited to funnel the northerners directly into their lands, they were vulnerable to invasion. Resolute John instituted more intense training, creating small practice zones where groups could learn unobserved by visitors. Qi was excellent at teaching others to recognize their strengths as John was at understanding how to overcome their own weaknesses, “Not a single one of us is perfect. The things you think make you weak are simply challenges you can overcome. What you might see as a flaw in yourself might be a blessing to someone else, don’t be so quick to discount your true abilities and how you are able to work with your partners.”

All the classes were mixed now, boys and girls training together, separated only by skill in various techniques and weapons. Qi was a harsh taskmistress, drilling everyone ruthlessly, not accepting excuses, and pushing hard but she also complimented honestly, praising people for making the extra effort, and recognizing what someone could actually do and not forcing them to reach too far.

The first attack came by sea but they were expecting it. Men with gold could hire a lot of help and pirates and raiders were sadly plentiful. Since helpful tongues had carried whispers of the planned invasion weeks ago they were ready. John and Sherlock had long since returned home after overseeing the evacuation of vulnerable people from the shoreline, re-filling the small huts and houses with youths and other un-married folk. Late in the night a ship slipped into an obscure cove and thinking themselves unseen sailors swarmed out of low shallow boats that hugged the coastline, their rectangular sails rolled tight, their passengers nearly black with the sun. Hidden along the shore people waited until the sailors were well inland before first bonfire was lit. The unexpected conflagration shattered the darkness and caused dozens of small bodies to rush out of the bushes where they’d been waiting.

The sailors were completely surprised as the night was destroyed by dozens of torches held two at a time by children of indeterminate age, their slim bodies encased in strange woven tunics and conical hats. Those bright lights brought small crowds of men and women of all ages wearing similar strange clothes, all bearing their staves and crooks, some even armed with simple leather slings, their faces serious and their movements disturbingly coordinated. Some few had bright shining knives thrust into their rope belts. None of the battles that flared lasted more than a short while and by the time the goddess of the morning spread her blessing an empty trireme sat anchored offshore, it’s final few occupants dealt with in the most fatal fashion before being given back to the gods. John had it pulled further out to sea and burned whole. They had no use for a warship and leaving it available wasn’t an option.

They knew the sailors were a distraction, a tactic to try and draw John’s apparently limited forces to the shore, their backs to the lands further inland. John knew their enemies would think them demoralized and for once he blessed the limited communications ability of this ancient era. Whatever attackers who approached through the forests would have no idea that their allies on the water had been entirely defeated on their first incursion. Now the population shifted yet again, bringing the elderly and very young closer to the centre surrounding all with strong young bodies and keen eyes. At dawn birds called from the deep woods and John smiled grimly at the songs sung by un-feathered messengers, “From the northeast.”

Zoa dispensed the swords he had available and ensured that all the spears were straight and sharp. Shields were checked and new armor was buckled a bit tighter as men and women from the entire region prepared to surprise their enemy, “Everyone to their places, it’s almost time.” People fanned out. During the course of their building efforts the people had used the displaced earth and stone to create several landforms that would force incoming people, horsed or not, to take very particular paths in order to enter the area. Those corridors became narrower and more twisted the closer they came to the immediate estate and each of these areas was now well populated with strong, healthy, well-fed, and very energetic graduates of John and Qi’s training.

“I don’t want to stay with the women!” hissed Sherlock. John stopped himself from huffing out another breath as Sherlock nearly bristled in front of him, “We are not separating for any reason John Watson!” Sherlock had changed out of his regular chiton and now wore a short skirt and a leather chest-piece that covered him from throat to hips. It was made of tightly braided and woven leather straps, their strength much increased by the convolutions they were put through. Zoa had accommodated Sherlock’s disguise subtly, the pattern criss-crossed in such a way as to enhance the idea that Sherlock was female, giving his figure a hint of cleavage as well as a more hourglass appearance without actually making him so. His feet were tightly laced into high sandals as were John’s feet, and both of them wore matching greaves. John carried a shield but Sherlock did not. He was armed with two particularly savage blades though, each nearly half the length each of John’s sword and they gleamed. His hair was bound back into a tight cap of braids tipped with pointed metal caps and he looked savage.

John wore a chest piece as well but Zoa had cleverly carved a copy of John’s tattoos onto it, and one of his assistants had done their best to paint it to match. His greaves didn’t hide the faces on his knees, indeed all his armour did was a mere enhancement of the marks he bore proudly, “I’m just going to the end of the field and back again Sherlock! I’ll be gone for less than an hour. Someone has to stay here and…”

Sherlock cut his husband right off, “Less than an hour my arse! It takes at least that long just to get there! You are supposed to remain here, _that was the plan_. People will expect to find you _here_ not running through the darkness and causing confusion. You are a _general_ in this battle John, not one of the foot soldiers,” Sherlock’s expression grew firm and his voice was soft and hard at the same time, “If you fall in the night who will lead the people? You and I will _both_ be gone.”

That unspoken threat stopped John cold and he froze in place, “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Oh I _would_ John Watson. If you die here without me I _will_ join you and since you’ll be dead there’s no way for you to stop me.” John stared up at Sherlock whose face was filled with determination. John knew that face. This was Sherlock telling John that a line in the sand had been drawn and it was all up to John to weigh the costs.

“ _Fuck_.” John swore after only a minute and watched as Sherlock relaxed, “I’ll stay, as planned.” He bit out. He was angry at being denied, furious because Sherlock was right. All the messengers would come here to update him, each group depended on knowing where he was. No matter how anxious he might be to join the fray this plan would only work if everyone played their parts perfectly and that included John. Sherlock would not trouble himself to remain on behalf of anyone, no matter how fond he was of them. If John died Sherlock would die too. There was no choice but to remain and carry out his duty the way everyone counted on him to do.

Bacchides and Dorus were ready as well, greatly different in size but wearing expressions of equal determination as they stepped into the outer-courtyard. Bacchides had a tremendous staff in his hand, his broad shoulders and chest covered in leather. His wife had bound his hair back with golden clips and lined his eyes heavily with khol. He looked exotic and terrifying and Bacchides’ expression grim. Dorus looked serious as he always did, his armour no different than the beekeeper but on his hands were two metal bands covered with knobs. _Cestus_ would give Dorus’ strikes the impact he needed to make up for his slight form, he could shatter a man’s jaw if he chose. It was unlikely many raiders would make it this far but any that did would need to get through them before coming anywhere near the interior.

Inside a heavily armed Aliyah and Tali were ready with the rest of the residents of the main house. All of them wore various adaptions of the woven armour that Zoa had created, each vest or breast-piece fitted with hidden plates of metal for added protection. Babes and small children played or slept on a series of soft beds laid out in the central courtyard, all the rooms filled with as many people as the structure could house. The entire complex was ringed with people, everyone armed in the way that suited them best. Qi was coordinating the exterior attacks and all they could do was wait for her signal.

Zoa was also patrolling the exterior grounds. He had made himself a long bladed weapon that reminded John of an axe, if axes had blades nearly three feet long and were shaped like leaves. The tall man had arduously carved a long wooden handle for it, once mounted it looked savage and the edge was sharp enough to sheer a length of fabric without needed to apply pressure. Only Zoa knew how to use it and he refused to make one for anyone else, “This is _my_ magic.” he insisted and no one argued.

Qi bristled with weapons. She had browbeat Zoa’s assistants into making her a clumsy looking set of leather clothes made of well cured leather held together with metal pins. After a brief breaking in period she astounded John and Sherlock with a breathtaking display of skill and dexterity. Qi made her own weapons. Most of them were hardwood but a precious few were metal. Zoa had made them to her exacting standards and like his leaf-blade, no one but Qi could manage them but unlike Zoa she promised to teach people as soon as she found someone she felt had the skills necessary. So far no one except Sherlock had, not even John.

Sherlock’s fighting skills made him blush both with embarrassment but also with pride. John had snickered the first few times they’d sparred but after a while he had to admit that the wildly theatrical style suited Sherlock and was definitely a surprise for a foe. No matter how someone might have felt about how Sherlock fought no one could deny that he was as fast as Qi, at least as deadly as John, and capable of so much less mercy. Sherlock refused to capitulate to the idea of fighting with honor, “I will do whatever I must to win John.” Two knives were all he ever bothered with, anything else was a distraction and an encumbrance. His long limbs were advantageous and his dance lessons had added enviable flexibility and strength to his tall body.

“The signal!” shouted someone outside. Both John and Sherlock ran to the exit to stand in the courtyard with Bacchides and Dorus. Far in the distance two large bonfires had blazed into life but they didn’t try the distracting gambit with the children and torches. These invaders were on horses, the children and youths considered old enough to defend them were far in the center of their territory protected by ribbons of older people who stood ready and waiting.

Sherlock pulled a small piece of fabric from his belt and tied it across his face to mask his features. Lydia and Aliyah had surprised him with the gift from the loom of young Beste. It fit around his entire face, the eye-pieces covered with loosely woven fabric that allowed Sherlock to see easily but kept his face entirely obscured. He loved it and wouldn’t have to worry about his veil fluttering away or getting tangled on anything. John hated it because he couldn’t kiss his lover easily but had to admit that it was effective. Once it was in place Sherlock looked down at his husband, “Ready John?”

“Let them come.” offered John with a bright grin and a cheeky wink. Mask or not Sherlock bent down and pressed a cloth covered kiss hard onto his husband’s mouth. John looked around when Sherlock finally stood and shouted, “Formation!”

Sherlock strained to listen and heard the satisfying rustle of leaves. After a brief period of utter silence they heard the unmistakeable drum of hoof beats. The raiders were coming full tilt, entirely unaware that ranks of people were closing silently behind them or that they’d ridden away from two massive bonfires that let distant neighbors know an attack was underway. A metallic slither broke the silence as John drew his sword and grinned up at Sherlock who was drawing his blades as well, “Try not to kill the horses.”

“Of course not love, I’m not a savage!” exclaimed the soldier. John turned and faced the thunder in the fading darkness. He was still grinning and he looked relaxed and happy. Sherlock was struck all over again at how John hid this part of himself, this blood-thirsty and vicious killer who could hardly keep himself from leaping forward to meet the challenge.

Sherlock couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed the top of John’s head, “You are magnificent my love.” Standing tall Sherlock stood arm’s length away from the warrior at his side, “There they are John. _The game is on_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have edited the tags to accommodate the upcoming installment because I have a vivid imagination and no self-control.
> 
> Battle scenes....yeah


	19. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invaders are approaching. Have John and Sherlock done enough to protect their people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was everything everyone wanted

The first thing John noticed was how small the horses seemed. They were sturdy, barrel shaped, and covered with a distracting array of items, not the least of which was one darkly garbed and masked rider after another. He was dismayed. There were so many more than they could have anticipated! This wasn’t a raiding party, this was an entire _legion_ of invaders! No wonder they had needed to silence everyone they passed by! Sherlock stepped forward and whistled shrilly and a mighty shout rose from all around them, people howling and screaming as loudly they could. In the pale dawn light Sherlock saw the horsemen riding through the olive groves, all of them bent low over their horse’s neck and Sherlock whistled a second time.

He couldn’t hear it but John watched as dozens of small hoop nets magically appeared in the air above the riders but he could hear the raider’s shocked and surprised shouts as dozens of them were fished right off their mounts by men hiding in high in the trees. Bodies hit the ground and horses veered away from the people who suddenly manifested from behind boulders and trees. That left plenty of horsemen to scream in return and John could hold back no longer. With a wordless roar of challenge John ran forward and Sherlock ran with him.

Sherlock could feel the ground shake beneath him, heard John’s wild cries ringing out, and could smell the very earth under his feet. His blades were in his hand and behind his mask Sherlock was snarling. Adrenalin had dumped into his body, making him hyperaware of how his flesh had become stronger than ever, how easy it was to _duck_ to _dart_ to _leap_ and to _strike_. At least half the horsemen were on foot now but that made them no less dangerous. Sherlock was on the first one before the man could regain his footing. This wasn’t a fight for glory, these people were here to kill everyone and there was only one option, _kill first_.

Sherlock did.

What John found breathtaking about how Sherlock fought was the complete lack of hesitation. John could almost feel the factors being considered as his lover used his well-trained body like the weapon it was.  The detective had always been lean but living their new lives had taken away whatever miniscule softness Sherlock might have had from living a relatively leisurely if active life in London. Now he was taut, hard, and each flat muscle was clearly visible beneath his smoothly tanned skin. Dancing with Aliyah had increased Sherlock’s natural abilities so he was almost inhumanly flexible, able to shift in any direction with ease and speed. He held his blades lightly, his long-fingered hands steady as the horsemen did his best to cut at him. Sherlock knew as much about anatomy as John and he was coolly efficient as the edges of his blades swiped this way and that with careless ease.

For a moment it was clear the raider had no idea he was dead. He was alive one moment and the next he was on the ground, his throat as deeply slashed as was his belly. With deadly grace Sherlock allowed the body to lay where it was, leaping forward almost as if to embrace his husband. He didn’t.

A horseman attacked John who was already engaged with another attacker, the soldier using his sword and shield to transform the man in front of him from a threat into a slightly twitching body, and the incoming rider was trying for John’s back. Sherlock spotted the craven and snarled, _no one was touching his glorious John!_ The blade did not land because Sherlock was there, his hand already bloody as he yanked his blade out from the man’s throat, hot blood spraying for a moment. Three men down in only a minute. Without a word both men leapt forward and continued. Some of the riders were wheeling around in a circle, trying to find a clear space but people were everywhere. Some had staves, others had crooks. The nets had been discarded but cloaks were being flung over the horse’s heads, gently blinding them as their riders were knocked off their backs. Reins were snatched up and the horses found themselves being trotted away from the fight to be handed off to different people until they were out of sight. Now on foot and holding only the weapons they fell with nearly two hundred strangers cursed and attacked.

It would have been wonderful to know that battles were fought cleanly and that nothing seriously wrong ever happened to those on your side but war was not like that. People bled. The stench of blood and worse travelled on the morning breeze as friend and foe alike took wounds or fell forever. John could not allow himself to be distracted by trying to help the fallen, they were being dragged off to be tended by his assistants in the infirmary. His job was here. There was a knot of fighters who kept back to back with each other and they seemed to be growing in size as more of their fellows joined them. John found himself racing forward next to Sherlock, both of them leaping over still bodies, slipping a bit on gore here and there but never stopping.

Sherlock had thrust his knives into his belt again and threw both his arms up just before they reached the tight group and John gave a great roar again. Diving forward Sherlock executed a series of tight flips before he landed feet first right in the center of the knot and brutally scattered them. John and Sherlock heard the eerie warning cry that Qi used, the outer fighters had returned and now their numbers had doubled while the raiders continued to lose one person after another in the most final way. A deep ululating cry came from a different direction, Zoa and his people were on their way.

From the day they met John and Sherlock had worked together effortlessly as a team. Their bodies had known somehow, attuned to one another’s actions and reactions so that alone they were deadly but together they were unstoppable. Sherlock shoved a man forward, John skewered him on his sword to get to his mate. Side-by side they worked, Sherlock’s long blades and John’s sword and shield creating an impenetrable barrier that caused death to anyone unwelcome. Dozens of horsemen fought in groups against the people, the field seemed full of fighters but most of the bodies came from where John and Sherlock had been. Their people were not killers, their jobs were to contain and re-direct so that others could take up temporary service to the god of death.

John heard one of the riders shout, “ _There she is!”_ and suddenly he and Sherlock had all their attention. Viciously the riders disengaged from those who tried to stop them and converged on the pair. John and Sherlock instantly pressed back to back, blades and shield at the ready. “ _Separate them.”_ Someone cried out and Sherlock found a long wooden stave had been shoved between them, prising him away from John. Knives flashing Sherlock inflicted terrible wounds on the torsos of two of his attackers in front of him but there were more than he could handle alone and his back was exposed. He could not risk looking back at John but he called for his lover and heard John call back. Someone shouted, “ _Don’t let her speak! She mustn’t speak! She’s got magic!”_

John’s blood ran cold as he heard the disembodied voice call, clearly they were after Sherlock and now John was being drawn away from his lover. Desperately he fought off the two men who were trying to trip him up. Sherlock was only a few feet behind him but John couldn’t see what was going on. He couldn’t turn his back and Sherlock’s voice seemed to be getting further away as John listened to him fight.

Qi and Zoa cried out again, _they were so close_. With renewed fury John dispatched one fighter with a deliberate cut to his upper thigh and left him to bleed out while he concentrated on vanquishing yet another fighter. In the stories no one spoke of how your sword became slick and bloody, or how the edge could get caught on a bone, forcing you to stop to yank it out, at task especially difficult if the body it was stuck in wasn’t quite dead yet. John had no time for mercy, he ripped his sword out and left the man to finish dying while he turned.

Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Head whipping around John anxiously searched the melee for his husband before finally spotting him most of the way across the field surrounded by a ring of men who held him at sword point. The tall man was being herded away, the riders were nearly at the trees but Qi was there! Zoa materialized out of the darkness and suddenly the men who had tried to make off with Sherlock were falling. John managed to race over in time to catch one who almost got away from Sherlock, the startled villain pulling up short and succeeding in allowing himself to be skewered from behind by the oracle, “That one was mine John.”

“Sorry love, not trying to be greedy.” John grinned up at his lover and knew Sherlock was grinning back. Sherlock’s eyes were both bright and hard, darting over the battlefield before nodding his head, “They’re trying to get away. Off we go John.”

John looked and sure enough a small group of riders were fighting their way back to the relative safety of the trees as a group. Kilt nearly flying in the air John ran as fast as he could toward them, Sherlock hard on his heels, their sandals slapping on the ground as they moved as quickly as they could. Zoa’s long legs carried him past the pair and surprisingly Qi managed to outpace them. John suddenly shouted, “Sherlock, _the house!_ ”

Sherlock kept running but risked a glance backward. _There were riders surrounding the house!_ Dorus was there and so was Bacchides but there were at least ten riders. A small group had somehow managed to penetrate the various obstacles in their path, the people who had been station there drawn off one at a time until only Dorus and Bacchides remained. They needed help! “Let the others go John, we have to go back.”

John cursed but stopped running long enough to turn around, “We’ll hunt those fuckers down later. They can’t get far and we have all their horses now.” they’d stolen a sizable herd right from beneath the riders and they weren’t giving them back.  By now all the horses had been led toward the sea, well away from the forests. To get them back would mean fighting their way through a lot of angry people and the invaders had already been nearly decimated during the brief fight. The morning was still young so John and Sherlock could see the skirmish in front of them clearly.

In the outer courtyard some of the riders fell from their horses while clutching their heads and John knew that youths were using their slings to throw fist sized rocks at the invaders. If the child were strong enough and the strike well placed it could kill but with their headgear and armour the best they could hope for was that they would be winded from the fall from their horse. It didn’t take long to unseat them but that just meant that Bacchides and Dorus were on the ground fighting ten men alone.

Sherlock seldom watched Bacchides practice fighting. The man was a gentle giant, careful in his ways, considerate and patient. He possessed great strength and almost inexhaustible energy, the stave he used was as tall as he was and he used it to great effect. He quickly knocked the swords out of the hands of three of them and Dorus sprang forward, his cestus causing each recipient to nearly shriek with the pain they felt. It was certain that wherever his blows had landed bones were broken and muscles deeply traumatized but they didn’t pause for long. The small man was neat and precise, wasting no effort as he fought back with strange efficiency. Try as they might to stop them though the rest of the invaders managed to slip around them and dart into the house. Sherlock and John continued to run as fast as they could, joined by more and more of the people as they skidded into the courtyard.

John savagely dispatched two of the riders while Sherlock ended another. By then others had arrived and without pause Sherlock ran into their home with John and Dorus, Bacchides only a step behind them. They heard screams and shouts but not feminine ones! Inside three men were now cornered by a group of matronly looking women all holding a devastating array of kitchen knives and mallets.  The soldier could see that doorways to bedrooms were thickly guarded by adults but not a child was in sight, all of them had been rushed to greater safety except for two. Aliyah was trapped at blade-point in the opposite corner and she had Tali behind her. The girl was holding both their babes and Aliyah had knives to rival Sherlock’s in her hands, her eyes flat and cold looking, “They want the children!” she gritted out. John had never once witnessed Aliyah angry. She was more than angry right then, she was ablaze with motherly fury.

“That brat is ours,” spat one of the men as he pressed forward with his sword, “This whore will give him to me.”

“What are you talking about!” demanded John. The raiders raised their swords higher, clearly willing to kill anyone within reach if the men put so much as a single foot forward, “No child here is yours!”

The man laughed raucously, “The little whore ran before she could be collected up. Hand it over, we’re taking the baby.”

Sherlock was sickened. _Tali’s baby was being stolen right in front of them_. The man closest to Aliyah thrust his sword suddenly and everyone gasped as her knives came up barely in time to deflect the near-fatal attack. It brought the man close enough to elbow the small woman hard in the face and Aliyah dropped straight down, her eyes sliding shut as she lost consciousness. The rest of the raiders suddenly fanned their arms out, ruthlessly attempting to slash out at any warm body near them and desperately John and Sherlock entered the fray just as Bacchides and Dorus forward, “Aliyah!” roared the beekeeper and Sherlock saw the quiet placid man transform into a battle-crazed titan in an instant.

“Dorus…they’re stealing our baby!” wailed Tali as Kuzma was torn from her arms. The raider tucked the screaming child close to his chest as the others crowded around him. The courtyard was filled with obstacles, it was almost impossible to fight and the raiders were completely willing to cause as much damage as they could if any of the people were near enough so the fight quickly turned into several small stand-offs.

“Tali! Kuzma!” Dorus was trying as hard as Bacchides to get to his wife. A man tried to run him through but Io and Ge were there. The bath-boy held up a handful of fine powder and blew it gently directly into the face of a horseman. The man began to scream and claw at his eyes as Ge calmly used a small blow-dart to tag another man with small feathered darts. Like the first he began to scream but only for a moment before he fell thrashing to the floor, his mouth producing a white foam in distressing quantity.

They couldn’t get to Aliyah or Tali, an inner wall was blocking the way and keeping her captor safe. He was still holding Kuzma and the man beside him looked around, his face masked, “ _Kill the women!_ ” a voice shouted and John instantly recognized it.

“Lonan _you coward!_ ” John’s lips were curling with contempt, “You _scum_. You came here as a guest and tried to rape the very girl you are stealing from now. What gives you the right to try and take her baby?”

The raider holding Kuzma looked fiercely proud, “My brother Felib is chief of my people. Our tribes have outgrown our lands. We will take these ones. We have no need of walled cities when we have the fat of this land. My brother needed an heir so he went out to make one. He planted twenty-one fields and sent us out to harvest the fruit. This child is the only one we haven’t found but now we have. Don’t worry whore,” the raider pulled the baby’s clothes away, “A _boy_ , good. We won’t have to kill this one. He only wanted the healthy boys.” Covetously the man stroked the child’s pale hair, “Just like my brother. He’s blessed by the gods and this proves this child is his. Of course he doesn’t know it’s a boy so if I killed it now he’d never know. _Don’t test me lowlander_ , let us walk away or I will end my brother’s line right here.”

“How can you be sure it’s his?” demanded Sherlock and the man laughed crudely.

“Oh I recognize the whore, she has a real pretty scream. It wasn’t hard to pick up her trail and it led right here. Lonan and Dand were more than happy to give us better directions in exchange for their pick of the women. I guess you can take the whore Lonan. She needs to feed the brat anyway, you may as well use her during the trip.”

He put a blade to Kuzma’s face, “Put the other whelp down.” Eyes opened wide she obeyed and then Tali was yanked forward. She looked terrified. The man thrust Kuzma back into her arms and laughed right in her face. Tears poured from her eyes and in a small voice she said, “You let him _hurt_ me.”

“My brother is chief. I don’t _let_ him do anything. He does as he sees fit and he saw to _do_ _you_.” His leer was lascivious and repellant, “You know Lonan, go pick another cunt. I think I want this one.” Lonan began to look all the other women over with interest and the rider laughed, “My brother wanted the oracle too even though I told him witches were bad luck but these lands are fat and an oracle means power, a blessing from the gods. Who knows, maybe she could have one of his heirs, she’d probably like having a real man between her thighs and not a painted flower.”

Sherlock snorted and John’s eyes went wide but no one said a thing to correct the man. They’d all worked very hard to convince the world that Sherlock was female. Clearly the ruse had succeeded but nonetheless John’s fists curled tight around his sword and his eyes did not leave the rider. Sherlock retorted coldly, “I am unable to bear children. The gods have not made me capable. Instead they have given me a gift and with that gift I see that you will be _meeting_ the gods very soon.” The raider looked less confident because everyone from the estate was looking at Sherlock with absolute conviction on their faces. They knew Sherlock was telling the truth and the raider paled a bit more. The Oracle Oliva was famed precisely because her words came to pass.

Dorus was standing there, every muscle tensed as he strained to be closer to his family. His dark eyes were expressionless once again even if his body was tense. His wife stood there with her head hanging as she looked at their baby, Tali sniffled loudly and looked up at the horseman. Their eyes locked and she softly said, “You let him hurt me _and you cannot have my son_.” The look of surprise at her refusal was soon replaced with a look of complete shock. The raider stood still for a moment just staring at Tali who held Kuzma to her breast with one arm. Lonan gave a surprised gasp as the horseman crumpled to the ground, Tali’s long blade now buried between his ribs, his heart pierced. Qi’s lessons had been exacting and Tali had studied hard. Whirling back toward Aliyah Tali snatched up Tarik and got out of the way. There was no way to describe the carnage that followed as anything but slaughter.

As Tali moved Dorus sprang upon Lonan, wrath twisting his normally impassive face into a rictus of pure hate. The small man leaped up. Using his legs to clamp around Lonan’s waist he drew back his arm and struck Lonan’s shoulder directly with his cestus. Everyone in the courtyard could hear the crunch of bone shattering just as Lonan began to shriek in agony. The unexpected savagery startled the invaders for only a second, just long enough to realize that their remaining breaths were numbered.

Sherlock didn’t see what Dorus did to Lonan, he was too busy watching John kill the remaining raiders. Simply standing there Sherlock smiled behind his mask as John spun and stabbed, gutted and stabbed again until only their people remained on their feet. Everyone helped except him. It all seemed to happen in an instant as dozens of long knives flashed and bodies hit the floor, some mostly intact, one not. There was a sickening smell in the air as bodies were laid open. When it was done the women looked down at the warm blood that was pooling on the flagstone before everyone threw back their heads to release loud cries of victory that were echoed outside. They had won.

John ran to check Aliyah who was just regaining consciousness. Leaving her with Ge and Bacchides John checked everyone else over quickly but the few wounds taken were shallow, Esin was more than able to stitch everyone up, so he and Sherlock ran back to the fields to rejoin the remains of the fight.

It was dreadful. Only a few of their people lay motionless on the ground but even a single one would have hurt them both. There were almost no riders left, their bodies lay thick on the bloodied ground, Zoa still in the middle of a fight with a quickly failing invader. One deft chop saw the man lose an arm and shortly after that, his life. Qi was standing over another body and she was wiping her blades clean, just calmly tidying herself as if she weren’t standing in the middle of an abattoir. Grim-faced, Sherlock and John strode forward to help the living. Small groups of people came forward to give their reports and the butcher’s bill was steep enough.

There were flesh wounds in abundance but John’s firm orders saw pressure compresses applied, a triage system organized as the other guardians came in from the outer regions to lend aid. All the most seriously wounded were carried away to John’s clinic. A mass of people with basic knowledge helped people who were only slightly wounded and the few of their people who had not survived were tenderly carried away to be prepared for their funerals.

Sherlock stayed with John, helping his husband stitch bodies together, applying an anti-septic solution he’d created to prevent infections before bandaging one person after another as soon as John was done. After a while Ge and Esin returned from their own exertions and began to assist. It was nearly evening before they were done and John was so tired he could barely stand. He hadn’t eaten since the day before and finally Sherlock was the one who forced him back to their home, “You’ve trained everyone to do what needs doing. Ge and Esin have eaten and slept already, they’re back to work. Come along John, it’s time to go! We’re entirely done here.”

The baths were empty. Most people had washed the gore of battle off in the stream or used urns of water to sluice themselves off but Sherlock wanted to be properly clean. All the attendants were out helping with the wounded so Sherlock and John had the place to themselves. Rinsing thoroughly before they began both men took turns scrubbing the other down.

John and Sherlock had planned for so many contingencies that there were small teams of people automatically assembling to take care of the myriad of tasks now needed to remove the dead from the field and begin repairing the damages caused by the short but intense battle. In less than a day they had defeated two invasions by well-armed and well-organized villains. An exhausted Zakiyah stopped in long enough to drop off a tray of food along with a jug of spiced wine before she returned to the outer-courtyard to keep working. Sherlock made John eat and John made Sherlock do the same, both of them quietly bickering as they helped each other wash up. The adrenaline that had fueled them for so many hours was long gone and suddenly both of them could hardly keep their eyes open.

They went back to the main house. Everyone had helped to remove the bodies and the last of the stones were already being scrubbed clean. Tali was sitting with Dorus outside Aliyah and Bacchides’ room, “Lady Aliyah is sleeping, Master Bacchides watches over her. I just want to be here in case Tarik wakes up.” John nodded.

Dorus had dragged a bedroll close and Kuzma was already asleep on it. Dorus looked like he did any other time, there was no sign he had just brutally killed a man by beating him into unrecognizable pulp, “You need to rest masters, we will come for you if you are needed.”

“We’re totally done anyway.” said John tiredly, “I don’t think anyone needs us anymore. We’re going to go back.” He nodded his head toward their bedroom and Dorus nodded.

Tali looked up at them, “Thank you Ioannes. Thank you Olivia. You have saved us all.”

“Nonsense,” said Sherlock dismissively, “You saved yourselves. We may as well not be here. Well done Tali.”

Tali smiled proudly and Dorus gave her a very loving kiss. “She is the most amazing woman in the world. I am a very lucky man.” John felt good when he recognized the love in Dorus’ face and its match in Tali’s. They were young and faced with many challenges but they were together and happy for it. He was content.

Lydia stopped them momentarily to say that runners from the local cities had arrived to say reinforcements had been sent out. John sent runners back to thank them but also to say they weren’t necessary, “They can talk to Bacchides later if they need to. It’s about time he started taking care of all of that anyway.” Lydia nodded and to their surprise gave them both a hug.

“Go on now, you’ve done all the good you can. We can manage from here.” she said with a proud smile, “Rest.”

“We will.” Sherlock took John’s hand and led him back to their bedroom where he shut the door firmly.

John kissed him the second it was closed and without hesitation they stripped off everything they were wearing and fell into bed together. Both of them were so tired from the fight, their muscles growing stiff and sore despite the hot bath, and John sighed as Sherlock pressed himself to John’s back, “You’re like a huge heating pad. It’s lovely.”

“You’re lovely.” said Sherlock softly, wearily pressing a kiss to the back of his husband’s neck, “I’m so tired John. I just want to rest.”

“Me too darling.” Sherlock didn’t answer, his breaths were already slowing as he fell asleep and with a smile and a contented sigh John allowed his eyes to close. It was full night once more and the scented breeze blew through their room. It carried a bit of a metallic tang from the fields in the distance but overall it was comforting. Their bed was hard beneath their slumbering bodies and neither of them noticed as they sank in deeper than normal. Part way through the night they shifted positions, John automatically stuffing the feather pillow underneath his cheek a little tighter before tugging the duvet up to cover Sherlock’s bare shoulders. They’d flipped around so John pressed his nose against Sherlock’s spine and kept snoring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost the end my friends. One more chapter and I believe this tale will be told. :D


	20. Back to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have managed to defeat a great host that threatened their people but something has happened in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ravenwolf36, I hope this story entertained you and made you smile from time to time.

 

It was cool and John kept sleeping happily. Sherlock was limp in his arms, one long arm flung back to rest on John’s hip and it was beautiful. John’s face twitched into a sleepy smile and he reached up to run his fingers through Sherlock’s long hair the way he loved to do. John’s eyes flew open when his drowsy caress ended almost instantly. Sherlock’s hair was short again. John’s head lifted up and he looked around anxiously, “Sherlock, wake up.”

“John?” Sherlock sounded weary, “Are we being attacked again?”

“We’re back love.” John’s hand rested on Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock tensed before he clearly woke the rest of the way and began to look around. They were in his bedroom, both of them completely naked, their armbands now on the night-table side-by-side. Sherlock reached over and picked them up. They seemed fused together, the weird single edge making a twisted figure eight, “Infinity,” he murmured “This is the symbol for infinity.”

They were both silent as they looked at the bands they had worn for so long. John felt the absence on his arm clearly and was somewhat comforted when Sherlock rubbed his own bicep ruefully. John had to ask, “So do you think it’s all over then? Will we go back?”

Sherlock was quiet for a long time before he said “No” in a soft sad voice, “I don’t think we’re going back. It seems that the bands were the cause this entire time and whatever purpose they had has been fulfilled.” Sherlock swallowed hard. They’d left everyone behind. He wouldn’t be able to watch Kuzma and Tarik grow up. He’d never know if the raiders returned or what anyone did with the horses, or if the vineyards were ever planted, or if the new medicines he’d created would be remembered and used, or a thousand other things they’d had a hand in.

John’s arm slide up around Sherlock’s chest and he held on tight, “I’m really going to miss everyone.” He was incredibly upset. He hadn’t said farewell to anyone. Sherlock twisted around and John felt himself being gathered up in his lover’s long arms and legs and held closely. Sherlock had his face buried in John’s hair and the doctor realized that Sherlock felt as badly as he did and for a moment his eyes burned with unshed tears. Zoa had been making eyes at Lydia, he’d never know if the tall blacksmith wed her. Qi would have to take over all the training and who would arrange the sale of Ona’s jewelry and set her up in her own smithy? “What if they’re attacked again? Felib isn’t going to let his brother’s death go unavenged, and what about Kuzma? Felib might find out about him, there were only a few people with light hair apart from me! He’s going to hear about Kuzma eventually!” There had been no more than a dozen people with fair hair, most of them had brown hair, a few had hair as black as Sherlock’s.

“If people are smart they’ll _hint_ that Kuzma might have been yours and not question Dorus too closely. It would be a better lie to tell than admitting the truth but I suspect that Felib will have to live with the consequences of his own actions. I don’t recall his name from the histories so he couldn’t have been that successful. All the cities around us know we were attacked, they were sending reinforcements. Maybe they’ll finally pay attention to the lands to the north-east and take care of whatever people re-settle that area. However they managed it we may never know.”

John was still sad. Sherlock held his husba… _his lover_ a little tighter, rubbing along John’s spine in small circles, the motion that soothed him the most and sure enough John eventually relaxed and began to return the comforting caress. John knew that what soothed Sherlock was to have his temples gently scratched so John’s small hand came up to do exactly that and Sherlock began to feel a bit better. “We should take a trip there someday. I know it won’t look anything the same but still.”

“I’d like that John, very much.” Sherlock felt like leaving right away. He wasn’t prepared to be back in London. He would miss Aliyah dreadfully and the bees! He would never have a chance to work with bees like that again. Modern beekeeping had almost nothing in common with how they’d done it centuries ago. It would be nothing the same but at least they could walk under the same sky and feel the breeze of the ocean. Perhaps there were ruins left, remnants of the stone homes they’d built, or the school. “We don’t even know what day it is.” Sherlock’s mobile was on the other nightstand and it was half-six in the morning. They looked at the date and sighed.

It was so long ago that they’d made love in this bed. So much had happened since then and it had only been the evening previous. John nearly dropped it when it rang. The sound was shocking, alien, and weird. Sherlock took it from him and answered the call, “Yes?” John heard Mycroft’s voice indistinctly and saw Sherlock’s eyes narrow a bit, “Why?” he asked and listened again, “For what reason?” Sherlock continued to listen but he resumed stroking John’s back, “I suppose.” He ended the call and dropped the mobile back on the bed.

“Well?” John waited for Sherlock who was wrapping his arms around John and hugging him tight.

“Our client has closed their file. They claim that the artefact they were missing has mysteriously returned, they suspect someone close to them but don’t care to look further. Mycroft is coming over with the cheque they gave him. I suppose that’s what we get for accepting referrals from him but at least we’re getting our fee.” Sherlock was unhappy. Without a case to distract him he would need to find something to occupy him. They were back in London, John would be working at the clinic again. He would be going out with his friends and possibly…Sherlock blanched. Would John begin dating again?

“Oh gods spare us! Not your brother!” John pressed his face to Sherlock’s chest and huffed out an annoyed breath, “We haven’t had time to adjust to anything. I guess we have to get up and get dressed. Gods I haven’t worn trousers in so long. This is going to be uncomfortable.”

 _No!_ “I absolutely forbid it John! No, _please_ , just use your kilt. Mycroft can just deal with it but I…please my darling? Just until we’re re-acclimated.” _John already had bare skin, he couldn’t stop wearing his kilt too_! Sherlock began to feel anxious and displaced. He missed being home except that they _were_ home. He needed to hang onto some fragment of their past for a while longer.

“Anything you want love, I don’t mind.” John was relieved. He wondered if he could wear his kilt to work. Female doctors wore skirts to work sometimes, it couldn’t be that impractical. He’d definitely have to wear a shirt and probably a jumper, but it would be nice to keep wearing his kilt.

“Maybe I can get you some contemporary ones.” Sherlock was reading John’s mind again, “No I’m no reading your mind John. You have the loudest expressions on the planet. Even Tarik could tell what you were thinking and he can’t even hold his own head up yet.”

John giggled and then felt sad for a second. The babies had been so small, so full of potential. He knew Dorus probably took very good care of his wife, they didn’t need to worry about that, but John wondered if they had other children together. What about Bacchides and Aliyah? She’d gotten pregnant very easily and suddenly John imagined a tiny horde of long-haired and graceful babies with rounded cheeks and sharp eyes. Somewhere in the world perhaps their bloodline thrived. Maybe the centuries had allowed one generation after another to go on, maybe if they looked they could find a place to begin and…and then what? Those people, those descendants. They would have no idea about Bacchides or Aliyah even if they could prove they were related. “How did it all happen though? How did we go back? How did we return? Why did this happen? We haven’t solved a thing.”

“We figured out something very important.” said Sherlock seriously, “We learned how much we loved one another.”

John smiled. _Yes they had_. That alone would have been worth the experience, “I love you with all my heart and soul.” Sherlock blushed the way he always did when John declared himself like that and John was charmed once again, “My truth-seer.”

“I’ll always be yours John.” replied Sherlock, his heart in his eyes. Now that they were back John had to understand how Sherlock couldn’t bear to lose him. _Here_ Sherlock was vulnerable. _Here and now_ was where the greatest danger to Sherlock’s emotional well-being existed. In this time and place John was single, straight, and completely free to do as he chose.

“Good.” said John firmly, “Don’t you dare try to leave me or break up with me or whatever odd thing is going on in that head of yours right now! Don’t do it Sherlock Holmes! We are together and that’s … that’s how we are.” there was trepidation in John’s voice when he added, “Right?”

Sherlock heaved a relieved sigh and answered fervently, “Yes John, that’s how we are. I would never give you up and if you decided to resume dating then…”

“What? Resume _what?_ No! Don’t even…” John made Sherlock look at him. John looked so serious he almost looked unhappy. “Sherlock, you are my…you are _mine_ but _I’m yours_ too, I’m not going to date anyone but you and I’m going to chalk up you even suggesting it as time-lag from traveling who knows how far from the past because that’s just crazy talk.” John knew Sherlock was insecure. He understood, he really did. No one knew Sherlock the way he did. John knew that a thousand mocking words had wounded his lover a million different ways until he was almost incapable of reaching out, terrified of exposing his heart, unwilling to even _feel_ the most basic of feelings because of the pain he had known for so long. Since he was only a small boy Sherlock had been told how he was too different, too difficult, too much of everything. “I fully expect to be with you forever Sherlock. I’ll never get enough of being with you because even when it’s been bad it’s been so much better than anything good I’ve had with anyone else, and when it’s good it’s so brilliant it makes the sun look dull.

Sherlock was blushing right down to his toes because John was making his heart thud, and making him feel hot and cold at the same time, his toes curling a bit, “I suppose we’d better get up. Mycroft will be here very soon.” John just smiled and did as he was asked, knowing Sherlock just need a bit of time to cool his blushes and regain his composure before Mycroft arrived. His reactions to John’s words of love were precious memories that John kept gladly. No one else had ever affected Sherlock so, just John.

They were discontent with the shower. The light was too bright and the room was too cold. The stall was too small and the showerhead seemed inadequate and after washing their hair and bodies and even taking time to shave they were done in only a quarter of an hour, “I suppose we’re spoiled now.” said John regretfully. Portis had the best technique for taking the stiffness out of John’s shoulder. He’d miss the baths, especially the hot pool.

John wasn’t happy with how he looked. He felt so _bare_. Sherlock’s fingers trailed familiar paths over his flesh even though the marks now only existed in their memories. His stomach was sunken in but there were flabby rolls of skin he didn’t recall and he missed the flat hard body he’d sported in Ionia.

They dried each other off and while Sherlock put on a suit John went upstairs to button on a shirt and pull a jumper on. He felt stifled and uncomfortable but he was warm at least. With a sigh John put his sporran on, rolled on his heavy socks, and after a moment he decided to stick his _sgian-dubh_ in the top of his left stocking. Mycroft could be annoying sometimes, maybe it would come in handy. Stomping his feet a bit to adjust them being inside his brogues John clomped downstairs and felt encumbered.

Sherlock was scowling. He’d buttoned on a shirt and he hated it nearly as much as he hated his pants. His trousers were too tight. His body…Sherlock scowled again. He no longer had a dancer’s body. Oh he was still thin, and he was still fit, but the marvelous definition was entirely gone, and his body hair was aggravating him, and he had not a single scrape of color on him. Sherlock looked like a drinking straw, an albino one with a mop of black hair. He scowled again and tugged on his coat angrily.

John came downstairs and Sherlock turned. He stopped moving when John came into view. His lover was wearing that wonderfully soft knobby jumper that Sherlock stole some nights when he couldn’t sleep, and his sporran was belted on. Sherlock had considered many times about making one for his husband but he knew that John’s sporran was special, a family heirloom that his great-grandfather had made. John hadn’t needed one in Ionia but here in London he would. Sherlock realized he was going to ask John to wear his kilt all the time. Instead of just one perhaps Sherlock could commission several to be made for his lover, maybe something plain he could wear to the clinic. Did male doctors wear kilts? If not then John would be the first, if he agreed.

John couldn’t stop staring at Sherlock. He looked so beautiful! It had been so long since John had seen his lover in a suit of clothes that it was almost dizzying. Sherlock looked like a gift wrapped in expensive paper, just _waiting_ to be taken apart one layer at a time. The curls on his head were riotous and John realized he’d missed that crazy halo, Sherlock attempted to contain it with hair products but even they lasted only so long before the power of the curl overcame all. It was _adorable_. He felt the same crooked smile he got when he was turned on and attracted spread across his face and he said, “You are so gorgeous. You’re amazing.”

John came right over and wrapped his arms around Sherlock who hugged him almost painfully tight. Sherlock felt himself relax, honestly he had no idea why he was being this way. John loved him, he wouldn’t stop loving him because of his looks. Sherlock sighed with relief as he let his hands wander over John’s familiar body. John wasn’t as fit as he had been in Ionia either but he was every bit as enticing as he had been. Sherlock had fallen so hard for John so long ago, each change that the soldier underwent was captivating. John only got better looking, more distinguished, and filled with such character. Sherlock had observed him for years, he knew this to be provable fact.

They went to the kitchen to make tea. It felt odd to turn on the tap to get water, and to plug the kettle in to make it boil. John fished out the tea-bags and Sherlock fetched down their smooth mugs, almost dropping them for their unexpected slickness. Everything felt strange. Both of them sighed after their first sip. It had been a long time since they shared a hot cuppa. John made toast. It tasted bland and boring, it had none of the flavor or texture of the bread Lydia had taught Sherlock to make, “I’m cooking later.” groused the detective, “This is awful.”

John dropped half his toast back on the plate, “I’ll wait then. I think Mrs. Hudson snuck some fruit in the crisper, we’ll have that instead.”

They found some sharp cheese to go with the fruit and a jar of questionable olives that neither of them could clearly remember buying but they didn’t smell off so Sherlock and John ate their simple breakfast. Mycroft knocked just as John was dumping the plates into the sink and he handed a slim envelope to his brother the second he walked through the door. He stopped and eyed John questioningly, “Adopting new fashions Dr. Watson?”

“Does it look new to you?” asked John dryly. His kilt was well kept but clearly well-worn. John had it for years and even if he hadn’t worn it often, he’d still worn it. The belt that kept his sporran on was soft and the handle of John’s _sgian-dubh_ was scuffed and marked from wear. His jumper was one of the few he owned and he had worn it hundreds of times. Even John’s brogues were clearly accustomed to being on John’s feet, many years of service coaxed out of them by a man who had little or nothing to spend on getting replacements.

“I suppose not.” Mycroft still looked quizzical, “You have been in London for nearly six years now, I have not once witnessed you wearing a kilt.”

“Well I guess it’s good to know you’re not omnipresent. That would make things awkward.” said John calmly, “We can get you a kilt too if you want Mycroft, Greg says you have killer legs, you might like it.”

Sherlock witnessed something he’d never seen before, Mycroft embarrassed. “Gregory speaks of me?”

“You’re kidding right? You two have been going at it like rabbits for three years now,” Sherlock gagged as John kept talking, “Greg’s my mate, of course he talks about you no matter how I beg and plead for him to stop.”

Mycroft eyed his brother sourly, “At least _I_ have a relationship _to_ speak of.” he said, looking sharply at Sherlock, “What do you have?”

John looked at Mycroft and said, “Me, he has me.”

Sherlock’s brother had a small amused smile on, “Oh yes, the BFF.”

“Probably.” shrugged John, “Forever sounds doable, what do you think Sherlock?”

“Certainly John.” Sherlock was smiling to himself, they were still friends as well as lovers now, that part of them would never change. Mycroft always failed miserably at trying to get a rise out of John and he was enjoying watching the soldier bait his brother. Still he wanted his only sibling to understand that there had been a significant shift in their relationship but he didn’t feel right doing so without consulting John first to see if he even wanted to tell anyone they were together. It would shock his friends and associates, John would probably need time to reconcile things before they could go public about their relationship.

“That seems a bit defeatist Dr. Watson, surely you will pursue a normal life even if your last marriage did not work out. You’re too young to give up on romance, surely.” Mycroft was almost gloating as he watched Sherlock to enjoy his reaction so he didn’t notice John shifting on the sofa where they sat.

John was getting irate. He didn’t appreciate the way Mycroft said that he worried for Sherlock all the time and yet left no opportunity to invalidate his brother’s feelings unused.

“Give up on romance? Never! I am the very _essence_ of romance, watch.” Sherlock was almost couldn’t contain his smile as he watched Mycroft become entirely annoyed. John really knew how to get under Mycroft’s skin, he did it effortlessly and Sherlock was silently applauding his lover for being so fantastic. He wasn’t expecting John to pick up his hands and go down on one knee in front of him, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are my best friend forever, and I want to be your best friend forever, and with that in mind I was wondering if you would do me the inestimable honor of marrying me so we could get on with that.”

John loved the expressions that flowed across Sherlock’s face unguarded. His lover had thought John was joking, but John watched surprise, shock, astonishment, delight, and finally John watched as pure happiness consumed the detective, “John Hamish Watson, I accept your proposal. We will indeed be best friends forever.” John grinned and Sherlock had to kiss him so he did. They were engaged, both of them giggling madly as their lips met which made it a bit messy but who cared about that? They were getting married! Sherlock whispered in John’s ear, “I can’t wait to call you _husband_ again.”

“Can I still call you _my wife_?” whispered John back and both of them giggled again.

“This is entirely unnecessary posturing and quite childish.” Mycroft sounded disapproving, “Stop it.”

“Make us.” said John and just kissed Sherlock again, both of them giggling harder than ever. “We’re not joking Mycroft. I actually did propose and Sherlock really did say yes. You witnessed it yourself. Congratulations, you’re going to be a brother-in-law.”

Mycroft looked stunned and while his mouth flapped wordlessly John got off the floor and sat back next to his fiancé. Sherlock’s heart was so full he didn’t care that his brother was still there. Anderson could be there and Sherlock wouldn’t give a toss. John Watson wanted to marry him! John was going to be Sherlock’s husband and this time they’d have pictures of their wedding to commemorate the occasion, in fact, “Smile John.” Sherlock lifted his camera and clicked, their faces pressed cheek to cheek, identical expressions of total joy on their face, “You look so handsome, my darling.”

“Thanks love, you always do.” John kissed Sherlock’s cheek and both of them enjoyed the slight retching sound that was coming from Mycroft.

John swiped the picture away and stiffened. _There were pictures of the Mehndi pattern Sherlock had drawn on!_ It looked weird to see it without color, and the two of them ignored Mycroft as Sherlock went through all the snaps he’d caught. How did the pictures remain yet the marks did not? John paused when he saw the photo of the backs of his legs. He’d been in the army for nearly two decades, he knew Morse code when he saw it and he wasn't drunk on wine and whiskey, “Sherlock!”

“Well you are.” said the detective petulantly, a flush staining his cheeks, “Very soon it will legally be true.”

“ _Property of Sherlock Holmes?_ ” cried John, “I had that on for _ages_ Sherlock!”

“Well only _I_ knew what it said John!” protested Sherlock weakly, “No one else could possibly have any idea.”

“What in the world are you two going on about!” cried Mycroft, now entirely irritated. He reached over and snatched Sherlock’s mobile away, “What is this?” Mycroft swiped from photo to photo, examining John’s marks far too closely for Sherlock’s peace of mind.

“You wouldn’t understand.” said Sherlock as he tried to take the mobile from his brother. “It was for the case, so it doesn’t matter now.”

“What is this? Greek?” Mycroft had found the copy of the scroll they had tried to decipher, “Oh for goodness sake Sherlock, how obsessed were you? _Property of Sherlock Holmes?_ Are you a child? No human being belongs to another.”

John had to disagree, “We belong together. We always have and you know it, but tell me. You can read that? Is that what it says?” John nodded at the picture before reaching into his duffle and handing Mycroft the actual scroll.

Mycroft gave an irritated huff but unrolled it expertly, “Of course. Ancient languages are necessary in order to understand cryptography which is a particular hobby of mine, this is a simple cipher, a child could have written it and it quite literally spells out in English _Property of Sherlock Holmes_ which is exactly the sort of puerile and immature behavior I should expect from him. When did you make this Sherlock?”

John looked at Mycroft, “He didn’t. We bought it at a shop not two days ago.”

Mycroft snorted, “He planted it there.”

Sherlock was scowling, “That scroll is made from vellum and vellum is comparatively pliable which is why it rolls well. You know full well that a scroll can last for centuries, that’s why parchments were used. Only very old vellum crumbles on the edges, so look Mycroft, the ink is as old as the sheet itself, is the edge pliable or not?”

It wasn’t a very good test Sherlock knew it. They’d need to get the piece carbon dated to be sure but even finding a blank scroll of old vellum this size would cost a sizeable fortune if one even existed, vellum was so precious it occasionally would be re-used, new ink carefully scripted above old letters that had been cleaned away as best as could be managed. No one would allow an _entire_ scroll to go unused. An expenditure that great would have been instantly noticed by the ever observant elder Holmes so Mycroft leaned in and ran his fingers gently along the edge. Fine bits of dust crumbled off and a sharp jagged piece snapped of entirely and fluttered away from the rest to land on the coffee table. “Impossible.” he stated, “How did you do this?”

“He didn’t. I’m telling you we bought that scroll in a shop not two days ago. I walked in there and saw him pick it up with my own eyes. That shelf hadn’t been dusted in months, if Sherlock had hidden it there it was available for sale for ages. Do you honestly think Sherlock would go through that kind of effort on the off-chance that I might eventually see it because we landed a case where a client coincidentally required us to go looking for artifacts and it would still be there?

John had receipts and he showed them to Mycroft who rolled his eyes. John was irate, he had no idea why Mycroft was being like this or why it mattered so much but John was annoyed enough to demand that Mycroft take them there, “You like driving around in that posh car anyway, come on, hop to it.”

Mycroft scowled at himself for how quickly he popped off of the chair on John’s command and Sherlock bit back a laugh. They had the higher moral ground here, he wasn’t going to lose it now. Mycroft took the receipt from John and gave his driver orders to proceed.

There was no shop. There was an empty commercial space and Mycroft frowned again. He lifted his mobile to his ear and spoke, “Anthea, review the CCTV footage for this address for this time two days ago. See if you can find Dr. Watson and my brother entering a particular shop. ” he read it off the receipt and confirmed the address next to it. A minute later a small video was sent and all of them watched it together. Mycroft sat back hard because there was clearly a store there. It was very obviously John and Sherlock going inside, they were arguing, John waving his free hand around and looking tired. There was no way to see inside and apart from foot traffic there was nothing to see that was out of place. Several minutes later John and Sherlock came out and John was tucking the scroll into his duffle. They were still bickering as they walked out of frame.

Mycroft looked at the empty space again, “Anthea check the feed for this location.” he explained the situation, omitting as much as possible, “The building is empty now. Find out when that happened.”

Months later John and Sherlock were at the airport awaiting their flight. Silver wedding bands shone on their fingers, both men sitting at ease beside one another as they began their honeymoon. Sherlock was going over their itinerary, “Mycroft claims he’s only doing his family duty by paying for our trip but we both know he can’t bear to have a mystery unsolved any more than I can. Finding nothing on the storefront still makes him agitated. This will be interesting John, our very own archaeological expedition.”

John was happy as he slouched there next to the man he was so glad to finally be able to call his husband. It had taken a while to convince Mycroft that they were seriously getting married, only Mrs. Hudson had believed them in fact, and it wasn’t until they were standing side by side with the registrar that Mycroft finally come around. Donovan and Anderson were still skeptical even though Lestrade had been there. Mrs. Hudson signed as witness and then they shared the wedding cake she had made for them. Sherlock and John didn’t have many close friends so after a small tea with the wedding party both men had taken up their luggage and walked away hand in hand. Whatever had caused them to go into the past remained unsolved. How the scroll had come into their possession had yet to be known. How the arm-bands had fused together was impossible to explain but John kept them in his sporran along with his wallet and keys, his kilt a permanent part of how he dressed. Sherlock approved. As soon as their flight to Turkey was announced John and Sherlock stood, hand in hand once again, “Come along John, _the game is on_.” and off they went, friends and lovers still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end my friends, at least of this particular story. In the fullness of time *flamboyant grandstanding* I will be producing a second story to answer all the things I have not managed to fit into this one. I thank all the readers who have commented so faithfully chapter after chapter, you know that attention is food for writers, right? We thrive on it so thank you a thousand times for sharing your thoughts and reactions with me, it really helps me create more and more *emotional vampire* when I get feedback about my work. I've deliberately left certain details undealt with so my next story isn't just gratuitous sex *nothing wrong with PWP* in weird locations.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have suggestions or just want to know how to get in touch with me I can be found on Tumblr at distantstarlight.tumblr.com or I can be emailed directly at distantstarlight@hotmail.com OR lastly found on Twitter at (gee what a surprise) @distantstarlite which is as close to my username as I could get. I am fairly busy so I'll post as opportunities present themselves (as soon as I can manage is what I mean) so subscribe to receive the email thingies they send out to let you know when I've updated. More soon!


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